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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597615">Long Live the Reckless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleotheDreamer/pseuds/CleotheDreamer'>CleotheDreamer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unrelated Adventures of SI/OCs Across Various Fandoms [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ADD/ADHD, ADHD Character, Basically someone who's never read the books is reborn as Harry, But without the self part, Canonical Child Abuse, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Self-Insert as Canon Character, This girl ain't got no clue what's happening, Trans Female Character, Trans Harry Potter, fuck terfs, oc-insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:34:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>39,962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleotheDreamer/pseuds/CleotheDreamer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She remembers that her name is Kendall, but it is also Harry Potter.</p>
<p>     	She remembers reincarnation.</p>
<p>     	She remembers a book series and cries because she shouldn’t remember.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Unrelated Adventures of SI/OCs Across Various Fandoms [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Collection of Beloved Inserts, Best of the time travel and SI/OCs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. To Know of Things Which Don't Exist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Basically, this is an OC inspired by my friend who refuses to read Harry Potter. She is the farthest thing from a nerd but she's sweet enough to answer questions so I can better characterize Harry in this story. </p>
<p>This will go into some themes of gender dysphoria as it's about a girl stuck in an AMAB body, but it won't be the major focal point of the story. She is a girl full stop, transphobes exit now.</p>
<p>Also, idk if everybody likes it when OC's focus on their past so just a fair warning: she does think a lot about her past life in the first few chapters I've written so far. Once we get into the plot I don't think it will be as relevant, but it's definitely still a large part of her.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing she remembers is that she likes coconut.</p>
<p>     	She really likes coconut. But she hasn’t ever tried it and Aunt Petunia calls it an ‘exotic’ flavor, so she doesn’t think she’ll try it soon.</p>
<p>     	But, she likes coconut. She doesn’t know how she knows this, but she does.</p>
<p>     	She likes peanut butter, too, and she sneaks out of the cupboard at night to eat it from the abandoned jar in the back of the pantry. Nobody else in the house likes peanut butter so they never notice. It’s the only way to stop her stomach from growling but the extra jar only lasts two weeks and it doesn’t take long before she’s feeling hungry again.</p>
<p>     	The second thing she remembers is that she isn’t an only child. She has a sister and a brother and a mom and a dad, but she doesn’t know where they are. The only relatives she should know are her Aunt Petunia and her Uncle Vernon and her cousin Dudley.</p>
<p>     	But, she knows she has a family somewhere because her brother’s name is Alex and her sister’s name is Sav(<strong>Sav</strong>), and she hates her mother, and she sometimes hates her dad, but –</p>
<p>     	They’re not here.</p>
<p>     	She doesn’t know anybody named Alex or Sav and she’s an orphan who doesn’t have a mom or a dad, and she’s only 4-years-old so why would she think that she celebrated her 17th birthday yesterday.</p>
<p>     	She remembers another girl, ‘Grace’, her honorary sister. She remembers her family always being late to trick-or-treating on Halloween and how Grace would always be halfway through all the houses when they got there.</p>
<p>     	She remembers a black cat and a white-haired dog and a best friend who she always calls ‘weird’ and who always calls her ‘basic’.</p>
<p>     	But she doesn’t have any friends and she’s a freak, not basic. She would really rather be basic because then Aunt Petunia might like her, and she might get new clothes for once.</p>
<p>     	She really likes pretty clothes.</p>
<p>     	But, she’s a boy, and that’s weird, but she knows she’s a girl, so she must be wrong.</p>
<p>     	<strike>She understands why the Dursleys hate her.</strike></p>
<p> </p>
<p>     	When Uncle Vernon yells at Aunt Petunia for not shearing the bushes in the backyard evenly, she remembers divorce.</p>
<p>     	She doesn’t like divorce, so she goes out and trims the bushes until they’re perfect and round and Uncle Vernon apologizes because ‘he must have seen them wrong’.</p>
<p>     	She remembers police-men handcuffing her mother and a broken pottery jar in the foyer of their house and she knows that she doesn’t like divorce.</p>
<p>     	But she also hates her mother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>     	She remembers a boy. She remembers lots of boys. They are kind and cruel, loving and distant, but she ends up hating all of them but one.</p>
<p>     	‘Elijah,’ she remembers, is a romantic. He writes her love letters every week for six months until she wishes that love letters were never a concept to begin with.</p>
<p>     	But, he brings her roses and she practices her makeup on his face and she loves him. For good and for bad, she loves him.</p>
<p>     	She remembers that he is going to go to college a year before her.</p>
<p>     	She remembers being scared.</p>
<p>     	She doesn’t know why she’s scared of him going to ‘college’ and she doesn’t know why he’s in America.</p>
<p>     	She’s 99.9% sure that Little Whinging is in England and 80% certain that she has <em>always</em> lived in England.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>     	She remembers cornfields.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>     	She remembers Christianity next. It isn’t happy like Aunt Petunia pretends it is. It’s her friend getting kicked out of their private Christian school for coming out as bisexual.</p>
<p>     	It’s her best friend, ‘Avery’, arguing with teachers and secretly confiding in her that she, herself, is a lesbian.</p>
<p>     	It’s her wishing for friends at a place where everyone is so full of hate that even just being neutral earns you animosity.</p>
<p>     	She remembers being forced into church pews.</p>
<p>     	She remembers that she was 17 when she died.</p>
<p>     	She remembers that her name is Kendall, but it is also Harry Potter.</p>
<p>     	She remembers reincarnation.</p>
<p>     	She remembers a book series and cries because she shouldn’t remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She is 5-years-old when all her memories settle. They come in strange bursts that leave her unsure of what is what until she knows for certain who she is.</p>
<p>     	Her name is Kendall, but she goes by Kenzie, and she died in a car crash 2 months after her 17th birthday. She grew up in a mansion and loves the guitar and wants to become a band manager. But, she is not 17, she’s 5-years-old and she lives in a closet and she just wants to survive the next day.</p>
<p>     	She wants her family back.</p>
<p>     	She wants her friends.</p>
<p>     	She is a wizard.</p>
<p>     	She is a witch.</p>
<p>     	And her name is Harry Potter.</p>
<p>     	(But she goes by Kenzie.</p>
<p>     	But she goes by ‘boy’.</p>
<p>     	But she is a girl.</p>
<p>     	But she is a boy.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>     	<em>She is scared.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Updates on this fic will be <em>extremely</em> sporadic as this is mainly just a fun thing I wrote in my free time. It has the barest outlines of plot, but I don't think I'll abandon it. Just note that it's not quite a priority of mine.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Had a Dream I Got Everything I Ever Wanted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She wants to do it right this time. </p><p>She wants to be better.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all, she ain't got the knowledge for this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She wakes up on her first day of Primary school and cries. It is hard to control emotions with the body of a 5-year-old. Anything she feels, whether it be anger or fear, sadness or pain, is always expressed through tears even though she tries so hard to tamp them down.</p><p>The cupboard is dusty, but she’s used to it. She used to hate small spaces, but now, they’re somewhat comforting.</p><p>She also used to hate spiders but, now that she’s lived beside them for four years, she has begun to appreciate their presence.</p><p>She dresses in her best clothes, which are clean, but baggy, and grey, and covered in holes.</p><p>She wishes she could shop at American Eagle just once if only to try on something pretty again. The issue with that is a.) she doesn’t know if they even exist yet and, b.) they’re probably a solely American company if they do.</p><p>Oh, and c.) the fact that she’s a child trapped at her abusive guardian’s house kind of makes things more complicated as well. She doesn’t know enough about the world to try to escape the Dursley’s and she also knows enough to <em> not </em>try to escape.</p><p>She doesn’t want to be trafficked and she doesn’t know the area well at all. She would be dead meat on the streets and child services sucks even in 2019 so she isn’t going to try <em> that route </em> . And, maybe she’s biased because of past experiences, but she doesn’t really want <em> more </em>adults to get her to try to make peace with people who don’t deserve forgiveness.</p><p>Especially considering the town she lives in so love to believe her aunt and uncle rather than her.</p><p>She also doesn’t know enough about this world to even consider leaving the Dursleys. She may not be the smartest person, but one cannot be a 2000’s baby without learning basic facts about Harry Potter.</p><p>1.)   He(she?)’s a wizard.</p><p>2.)   The series leads up to a war where a bunch of racist wizards want to kill off a bunch of people for racist reasons and really hate Harry, because, why not? She thinks it had something to do with a prophecy. Scar? It definitely had something to do with Harry’s scar. Either way, the conflict seemed to center around wizard terrorists.</p><p>3.)   Hogwarts is a magic school with horrible teachers (maybe? She’s seen a lot of hate for some characters, but they’re also loved by others too, so she’s not sure). It sorts you into one of 3 (4?) houses based on one’s personality.</p><p>4.)   Harry has two best friends, one of which being Emma Watson.</p><p>5.)   Owls and dragons and something about a train.</p><p>6.)   The only character that people hate indiscriminately is a lady named Um-something. Umbitch? She’s positively certain she saw it written like that but she’s also pretty sure that could never be anyone’s name. </p><p>7.)   People <em> really </em>like to argue about who’s the best fit for who, romantically.</p><p>8.)   Harry’s life sucks and everyone wants to kill him.</p><p>All she knows is that being away from the wizarding world might protect her from all the crazy. After all, terrorists weren’t something that just popped up suddenly. If they existed in ten - fifteen, however many years from now she’d face them -  they existed now.</p><p>People are probably already gearing up to kill her, and, if they aren’t, it’s still better to be safe than sorry. </p><p>It’s thinking about these things that make her regret not reading the Harry Potter books.</p><p>She is, as Avery so jokingly calls her, a ‘basic white girl’. As her friend so often reminded her, though, being a ‘basic white girl’ is a state of mind and she very clearly is ‘not a basic white girl’.</p><p>She isn’t sure what that means or what she is, but she knows Avery was a nerd. A big nerd. A huge nerd. A ‘what are you talking about, slow down’ kind of nerd.</p><p>So, she probably should have read Harry Potter considering her friend loved the series so much. She read the first chapter but had given up on account of the fact that it was, you know, <em> reading. </em> She likes T.V – excuse her, the <em> telly </em> – a lot more.</p><p>Even though Kenzie(Harry) knew nothing about the series, Avery would spend hours trying to figure out what house Kenzie(<b>Harry</b>) was in and would end up just as stumped as she began.</p><p>Kenzie(<b>Harry</b>) remembers feeling proud.</p><p>She isn’t proud now, though, a 5-year-old orphan dressed in rags and abuse. She is scared and lonely and angry like a lioness beating against her ribcage.</p><p>Perhaps she is not ready for public school. Perhaps it will be a nightmare.</p><p>But she needs to be ready. This is a new start and, though it isn’t a particularly <em> good </em> one, she isn’t ashamed to say that she’d always wished to try again. To fix all her mistakes and be better.</p><p>She isn’t a particularly smart person and she never has been, but she’s never been dumb either. She’s the kind of person to study long and hard before tests and get a solid B.</p><p>She wants to be a solid A student this time around and damn the consequences. She wants to be smart, for once. She wants to make her friend and sister(<em> where is she? Where’s Sav? </em>) proud.</p><p>She wants to do it right this time.</p><p>She doesn’t know if she has magic, but she thinks she does. She has been living her life as if she is magical, not really considering it might not actually be an option. But, if it isn’t, she needs to be good even just at being regular. Having a head start can take you far in the world, and she has so many things she wants to do this time around.</p><p>It doesn’t matter if she is a wizard or a witch, or just plain old human, she’s going to be the best that she can be.</p><p> </p><p>Primary school is terrible, but at least she’s away from the Dursleys.</p><p> </p><p>She doesn’t know her parents’ names. Well, Harry’s parents’ names. She doesn’t know whether she is Harry or if Harry is her, but she’s fine being Harry.</p><p>She would rather be Harry than have a <em> real </em> child be Harry.</p><p>She is 6-years-old and has no friends because her cousin is a bully. But she’s fine because the teachers love her no matter what her relatives say.</p><p>She’s used to being a loner – she doesn’t need friends because no one can replace Avery.</p><p>She’s <em> fine.</em></p><p> </p><p>Harry learns she doesn’t care.</p><p>
  <em> She doesn’t care. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>She takes the bus every morning and no one sits next to her so she talks to the driver – a kind old woman with dark skin and lots of stories. People are always rude to her because she is one of the only black people in the area and, well, Little Whinging is very racist and rather hostile to ‘outsiders’.</p><p>It makes it easier for people to hate her, and easier for Harry to hate them. After all, nobody likes racists.</p><p>Her name is Ms. Campbell and she likes to joke about how the Campbell soup company should pay her money for using her last name to sell merchandise. Ms. Campbell is also a large fan of Nutella because she spent four years in France as a tour bus driver and it became her favorite crepe topping.</p><p>Harry is often allowed to sit on the floor because Ms. Campbell trusts her enough to be safe. Ms. Campbell also has Harry sit facing the back to spy for misbehavior.</p><p>Harry is not ashamed to say she’s a tattle-tale, though she only tattles when kids actually deserve punishment.</p><p>(Though she does make up a few things about the older bullies when they’ve been particularly nasty at school.)</p><p>Ms. Campbell brings her bubblegum, sometimes, and tucks it in the ratty pocket of her backpack for her to find later.</p><p>Harry thinks Ms. Campbell is the only good thing about her day, though being friends with the bus driver probably adds to the difficulty of finding friends at school.</p><p> </p><p>Barring the bus rides, school is an unpleasant affair. She wakes up every morning to make breakfast for the Dursleys and still comes to school hungry.</p><p>The workload is easy, but it takes her a month or two before the teacher believes she isn’t cheating.</p><p>They have her take an IQ test and she doesn’t know how to properly dumb herself down enough to be reasonable, so she scores genius level.</p><p>She feels good about herself, even though she is not a genius.</p><p>The teachers love her after that – the quiet and humble boy who knows his manners and never causes problems.</p><p>The more observant ones notice the abuse, but they don’t do anything more than treat her as well as they can.</p><p>She supposes that’s better than nothing.</p><p>But still, the kindness of teachers only does so much against the constant harassment from Dudley and his gang. There is always a threat of them trying to sabotage her - to rip apart her tests or destroy her homework. They even like to destroy what little food she has in a day by pushing her school lunches into the floor.</p><p>It is an impossibly tiring affair.</p><p> </p><p>Life goes by and it is not pleasant.</p><p>She vows that it will be better.</p><p>(She does not know if it will be better.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys are doing well!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Mirror Weaves a Tapestry of the Person That I Used to be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She’s human, she thinks. Maybe.</p><p>Or maybe she’s a thing, not quite fitting anywhere in particular. Not quite girl and not quite boy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>She’s got some problematic views about bipolar disorder because her mom’s really awful and uses her bipolar disorder as an excuse to be emotionally abusive/an ephebophile/violently homophobic/and more things. The woman has multiple restraining orders and deserves to be in jail, but her bipolar disorder is often used to excuse her actions. Note that bipolar disorder is not a bad thing to have, just that she has bad experiences with it and relates it to the trauma she's experienced from her mom. This is also an issue and prejudice she needs to work through, but I want every bipolar reader to know that no, you are not crazy or bad or manipulative, you're wonderful and deserving of love and goodness. It will not be brought up frequently, but I don’t want to take away genuine flaws that she needs to work through cuz that does a disservice to ppl who do experience prejudice. I’ve found that erasing (respectfully handled) prejudices from fiction often erases people’s experiences. Take Sokka as a good example. He starts off very sexist but over the course of ATLA story he learns better and develops. If I do not handle this subject respectfully, though, please tell me so I can try to fix it or remove it accordingly</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At 7-years-old, the Dursleys say she is bipolar. She is not bipolar, and she hates the Dursleys and she hates her mother.</p><p>Her mother is the bipolar one, not her. She doesn’t want to be bipolar.</p><p>(She is not bipolar.)</p><p>The teachers say she is ADHD and she smiles, says ‘yes, that’s it,’ and pretends that it doesn’t sting when there is nobody next to her to share it with.</p><p>(<strike>Where is Avery?</strike>)</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes are green. Toxic like algae on a pond, and she wants to tear them from her face sometimes. They are supposed to be blue, she thinks, eyes watery as she clenches her too-small hands at her sides. Icy blue with speckles of hazel and brown and yellow near the pupils.</p><p>Her hair is black where blonde locks should be, and she wants to grow it out. She wants to dye the ends pink, purple, blue, until it feels right again. Until it feels <em>real</em>.</p><p>She doesn’t feel real. Half-child, half-teenager, half-adult, she is half-<em>human</em> and her hand traces too soft skin and wonders if she should be happy.</p><p>Happy, like this is somehow a good thing. Happy, because for once she is the protagonist. The leading role.</p><p>The one who gets to <em>save everyone.</em></p><p>She has magic. It’s a bitter victory.</p><p>It twists from her hands like glitter stuck in the cracks of her palms, sometimes, when she gets too sad or angry. It only makes things worse, because somehow the curtains will turn yellow or red or green or the windows will crack and then Aunt Petunia will get mad like Harry somehow <em>wants </em>to face an afternoon in the cupboard, skin pink, purple, blue – like the ends of her hair when it was long, dirty-blonde, and <em>real</em>.</p><p>She has a scar on her forehead and it sometimes feels like a comfort. She had a scar there, once - different, but still there above her right eyebrow. It had been fainter than the lightning bolt striking across her skin. A divot in her skin – straight and only slightly off-color from where she’d cracked her head open as a toddler.</p><p>She has small hands – too small and thin – but her skin is the same color and she finds a cold comfort in that. An ironic one – something she focuses on when her skin feels too tight and her stomach feels too hollow and her chest feels <em>too light</em> –</p><p>She’s human, she thinks. Maybe.</p><p>Or maybe she’s a thing, not quite fitting anywhere in particular. Not quite girl and not quite boy.</p><p>Not quite wizard or witch, but human enough to feel a little lonely. Human enough to collect the leftover bubblegum wrappers from Ms. Campbell and stash them under her pillow like they’re some sort of letter she can read in the dim light of the cupboard – when her arms ache from gardening and her heart twinges from homesickness.</p><p>She closes her eyes, sleeps, and dreams.</p><p>Green – toxic green – flickers behind her eyelids as she sleeps.</p><p>She wonders what it means.</p><p> </p><p>She is 8 and there’s a man at the door. He’s here for Uncle Vernon – nothing bad, he’s just a dinner guest an hour too early.</p><p>She’s covered in dirt trying to think of the quickest way to get his suspicious eyes off her. She’s fallen into it again: hiding abuse like it’s a sin of her own making.</p><p>She’s 25 altogether, she thinks, and she should be mature enough to stand up for herself. To not blame herself for the sin wrought by hands who are supposed to protect.</p><p>Maybe she’s just bitter, but she can’t think this adult would even care. She’s only met a few adults in either lifetime who’ve thought to even <em>try </em>caring, and she’s not inclined to give any the benefit of the doubt anymore. She’s independent – self-reliant – and he can go shove his concern up his ass if he thinks calling the authorities is a good idea.</p><p>(The last person who did that got fired from their job. She doesn’t feel guilty – <em>she doesn’t.</em>)</p><p>He raises his hand and she flinches.</p><p>And she curses.</p><p>And she runs because she is a child and an adult and a teenager.</p><p>And she runs because she is a <em>human</em>.</p><p>She’s glad Uncle Vernon hasn’t asked her to cut the bushes recently. They’re scratchy against her skin, but she curls into a ball and plays with the ladybugs and thinks she’d rather sleep here than in the cupboard. Here, she can breathe, can look at the sky and marvel at the stars hours later when the man has left –  fed a few tall tales until he could walk home with a clean conscience and only the distant memory of a dirty boy(<strike><em>girl</em></strike>) with too thin cheeks and too big clothes.</p><p>She’s surprised she can see the stars, truly. She’s in a neighborhood in the middle of a decently populated town. Perhaps she’s just far enough away from the city for the light pollution to not reach them.</p><p>Perhaps she is twenty years too early for light pollution to block the night sky of the suburbs.</p><p>Perhaps.</p><p>Perhaps she should sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Dudley grins, lies dripping from his teeth like the sugar he gorges himself on and Ms. Campbell’s fired from her job.</p><p>Harry mourns.</p><p>The new bus driver is a jolly older man with square glasses, balding salt-and-pepper hair, and a handlebar mustache that reminds her too much of Uncle Vernon’s to be comfortable. He’s rotund and kind and loud but he won’t let her sit in the front with him and he doesn’t bring her bubblegum and he doesn’t know her birthday’s in the summer to ask her how it went on the first day of school.</p><p>She feels loss – doesn’t know where Ms. Campbell lives to go find her and give her the Christmas present she’s made in the time where she finishes early in art class.</p><p>She clutches the wrappers she’s hidden under her pillow and thinks that maybe it’s a good thing she kept them. She writes notes on them about her day and imagines that one day she might be able to tell them to Ms. Campbell in person, again.</p><p>She’s 9 and she hates a child.</p><p>She’s 9 and she wonders if that makes her a monster.</p><p> </p><p>She’s 10 and she begins to take spiders to Dudley’s room and hide them in his blankets. She knows it’s cruel – he’s a child, really, no matter how terrible – but she feels worse about hurting the spiders than him and she feels a little broken because of it.</p><p>Is she truly so terrible?</p><p>She runs from him, most days, with a blank face and angry eyes – so maybe she’s not a monster. He’s bruised her so many times – broken her bones with a laugh – that she thinks that he might be beyond saving. Maybe he’s one of those children whose cruelty lies deeper than simple childish immaturity.</p><p>She’s 10 and Aunt Petunia makes her do so many chores that her hands blister and her eyes water and she wonders if she should be dead by now. Chemicals fill her lungs in toxic combinations, and she thinks that maybe her magic is the only thing keeping her alive.</p><p>She wonders if she should be thankful.</p><p> </p><p>She died a teenager who was an expert at hiding things from her hyper-controlling mother, so seeing a letter addressed to herself made her sneakier tendencies present themselves. She’d been stealing the Dursleys bank letters for years – throwing them in her cupboard and burning them whenever she had a chance so that Uncle Vernon thinks he’s going insane when the bank tells him he hasn’t been paying his credit card bills – so it isn’t difficult for her to drop her letter off in her cupboard on the way back to the table.</p><p>She feels excited, wonders if this means something good or bad. She’s a witch, a wizard, a <em>human</em> and she’s going to be away from the Dursleys for three quarters of a year.</p><p>She smiles, sharp, and dumps laxatives in the scrambled eggs.</p><p>(She’s a little bitter, a little broken, and she wonders if that’s such a bad thing.)</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My friend's vindictive, and I love that about her, so enjoy some good old harmless(?maybe) revenge.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Heart Like a Drum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Harry falls asleep under the scorching rays of sunlight. The burn of it on her skin is comfortingly hot. The wood beneath her body hums with heat like a radiator. She thinks that she'd rather have been reincarnated as a cat.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I guess you could say this fic is a big FUCK YOU to JK FUCKING ROWLING, YOU ABSOLUTELY DESPICABLE HUMAN BEING.</p><p>Harry is a trans woman in this written for both my trans friend and with her advice and for one of my cis friends – the one who hasn't read Harry Potter. This character is for both of them, but it's heavily inspired by trans women and for them. So, Harry Potter is fucking trans, take that, JK Rowling. Your TERF rhetoric isn't welcome here or anywhere else. </p><p>If you support transphobia in any way, please take your bullshit and leave. Don't consume media about trans women if you don't support them....</p><p>With that out of the way, I've realized writing in the present tense when also frequently referencing the past is really fucking difficult. Also, each and every fic of mine has an entirely different tone??</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She writes back that evening. She doesn’t quite know what to say, but she tries her best to convey that she has absolutely no idea what she’s doing.</p><p>Harry thinks she succeeds.</p><p> </p><p>Harry's death is an unpleasant memory that she tries to forget. Sometimes, though, she’ll wake with the feeling of blood on the back of her tongue and she'll choke – coughing on something that isn’t there.</p><p>Death tastes like iron – like chewing on rusty nails and knowing it would be foolish to hope for something besides the bitter, metallic tang of inevitability, but still hoping anyway.</p><p>Death is not pretty or lovely or appreciated.</p><p>The ironic part is that Harry doesn't know if she can say that she died. After all, what constitutes death when her heart still beats and her chest still rises and falls with every breath?</p><p> </p><p>She’s 11 and there’s a man at the door. He’s tall and looks like the crazy, old sorcerer’s in cartoons. His hair is white and long, and his eyes are a sharp and piercing blue. She finds herself jealous of him.</p><p>Those eyes are the same color hers used to be – bright and twinkly and far too young for a face that wrinkled.</p><p>He smiles a grandfatherly smile and Harry thinks that he looks vaguely familiar. Perhaps he’s a main character. She wouldn’t know.</p><p>“Are you Harry Potter?” he asks and she raises her eyebrow because she <em>knows </em>that he<em> knows </em>that she is, so why is he pretending?</p><p>It makes her guard raise. She answers as politely as she can, “yes, that’s me.”</p><p>She doesn’t know if it’s a lie or not, but he doesn’t push.</p><p>“I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore, it's nice to meet you.”</p><p>“It's nice to meet you, too,” she dutifully responds.</p><p>”May I talk to your aunt or uncle?” he asks, and she nods, going to collect Petunia from the kitchen.</p><p>When Petunia sees Dumbledore on her front porch – dressed in a ridiculous gown of clashing purple and green with yellow stars – her face turns white with what might be rage or disgust. Harry never cares enough to try to determine the meaning behind her aunt’s facial expressions.</p><p>It would only hurt worse if she tried to analyze how they truly feel about her. She learned that it’s easier to just ignore things. Perhaps it’s not healthy, but it’s easier.</p><p>“Get in,” Petunia hisses, peeking her head out of the door to check if any of the neighbor’s are seeing the fashion disaster who walked up to their doorstep.</p><p>Harry spitefully wishes she had some way to take a photo of the man in their living room, if only to use for future pranks. Dumbledore obliges, stepping past the door frame casually like Petunia’s panic has no effect on him. It makes Harry’s lip twitch upward in a slight smile.</p><p>He gives her a wink and her face heats at being caught. She is still not used to a body that blushes so easily.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Petunia. I trust you are doing well,” Dumbledore says, looking entirely too comfortable in a house he's clearly not welcome in. A bubble of discomfort builds in her chest at his nonchalant yet seemingly omniscient behavior. Harry feels small near this man, and she wonders if Petunia does as well. There's a subtle shake in her hands as she clutches her apron.</p><p>Dumbledore sits on the sofa uninvited. She wonders if this will come to violence considering Vernon is supposed to be home soon.</p><p>She'll have to escort Dudley away if it does. No matter how much Harry hates her cousin, he is still just a child.</p><p>“I'm doing fine, thank you,” Petunia says through gritted teeth.</p><p>“I'm sure you know why I'm here,” Dumbledore prompts, not even blinking at her aunt's discomfort.</p><p>A spark of curiosity lights in her chest at Aunt Petunia's flinch. Harry ignores it. The Dursleys aren't worth the energy it'd take to understand them.</p><p>“Of course,” she says, swallowing around what seems to be both anger and fear.</p><p>At the lack of further acknowledgment from Dumbledore and Petunia, Harry leaves. The conversation they're having is clearly not a place for her. She swallows down the bitterness.</p><p>'It should be soon,' she thinks, 'soon I'll be out of the house for 3 quarters of a year at a boarding school – magic or not. Soon, I'll be welcome <em>somewhere.'</em></p><p>(She wonders where her family is now – where her friends are.</p><p>Everything she had achieved – everything she had accomplished – is gone.</p><p>She wonders if she should be happy for a second chance or if this is a punishment for something she does not remember doing.</p><p>She hopes, fruitlessly, that perhaps she is not alone here; that someone she loves has followed her through the end of one life and to the next.)</p><p>Wandering into the kitchen, she wonders for a moment if she could get away with pilfering a bit of food. She decides it's not worth the risk. Dudley is supernaturally good at finding her when she's breaking the rules and he is fond of tattling.</p><p>Perhaps, one day, he'll ignore her. She doesn't think it will happen soon, but maybe. He's only a child.</p><p>(But so were Ashlyn and Olive and Sam and Anna – children are cruel, she remembers. Or perhaps all people are and adults are just better at masking it.)</p><p>Harry opens the door to the backyard and sits on the porch. There's a nice breeze and, despite the heat, she doesn't feel too uncomfortable. The Midwestern U.S. weather she grew up in made her immune to the humid heat of England and she's yet to experience the same level of heat she'd gotten accustomed to in her old life.</p><p>She always liked the outdoors. She'd not liked it enough to consider herself 'outdoorsy', but she did sports and skateboarded regularly enough. She liked the sun, she thinks. Or maybe it's that whenever she was outdoors, she'd typically been with other people.</p><p>She had been a social person. She hadn't had many friends at her school, but she tried her best to find ways to hang out with others. Her high school experience had been disappointing. Going to a small private Christian school didn't allow for many opportunities to party and those who hosted ones were typically people she wasn't interested in spending time with.</p><p>Harry hopes that maybe this time around will be better. Maybe she can find friends – real ones.</p><p>Or, maybe not.</p><p>Attachment sounds difficult when she's yet to truly grieve her past family and friends.</p><p>The sun is hot and bright on her cheeks. After the first two weeks of summer, her skin tanned olive and lessened her chances of getting sunburns, so she isn't worried about the lack of sunscreen. Harry might get skin cancer but, well, what's so terrifying about dying? She's already died once, perhaps she'll stay dead the next time.</p><p>Ignoring the sound of her Aunt's raised voice with practiced ease, Harry flips onto her back and stares up at the sky through squinted eyes. There are few clouds, but those that float leisurely by are fluffy and white. She thinks that she should learn to paint this time around. She won't have access to a guitar for a long while and, even if she's able to buy one, the Dursleys wouldn't allow her to use it.</p><p>Harry's already been doodling on her spare paper as much as she's been able to and she can clearly see the difference in skill between her old eleven-year-old self and her new eleven-year-old self. In fact, she thinks she's almost better than she was at 17, though maybe that's just wishful thinking. She'd never drawn Before so she doesn't have a high standard to pass.</p><p>Perhaps she could do choir this time around. She's always loved singing and learning how to properly sing from something other than Youtube videos seems like a dream.</p><p>A dream within a nightmare, but that appears to be the theme with this new life.</p><p> </p><p>Harry falls asleep under the scorching rays of sunlight. The burn of it on her skin is comfortingly hot. The wood beneath her body hums with heat like a radiator. She thinks that she'd rather have been reincarnated as a cat.</p><p>She doesn't know much about religions besides Christianity, but Harry's decently sure that one of them believes in animal reincarnation.</p><p>She's half-awake when the front door slams shut and Aunt Petunia screams something her sleep-addled brain isn't capable of processing yet.</p><p>She feels like she's forgotten something. There's a mental block in her brain as she groggily sits up and stretches her limbs. She doesn't know if it's her ADHD or her tiredness, but her brain feels like a solid chunk of concrete in her head: not yet capable of coherent thought.</p><p>It comes back to her when she sees the horrendous robes.</p><p>There's a wizard in front of her, she thinks, or maybe just a madman. Either way, she wonders if this conversation has been 'approved' by Petunia.</p><p>(She wonders if she cares.)</p><p>“Hello, Harry,” the man, Dumbledore?, says in a soft voice, “I'm sorry I didn't include you in your aunt and I's conversation, but I think you know why I'm here?”</p><p>She nods. There's nothing she can really say with her tongue sitting like a heavy weight in her mouth.</p><p>“Then I suppose you'd like me to explain the letter you received last week.”</p><p>Harry nods again. Anxiety spikes in her chest for no explicable reason. It might be the lack of socialization.</p><p>She doesn't know if she cares.</p><p>(She cares, but she cares quietly. Her care is hidden deep inside her heart where no one could notice unless they ripped her apart.)</p><p> </p><p>She's a wizard – or, a witch she supposes. Maybe just magical.</p><p>'Muggle' is such a dirty word but the only 'muggles' she knows in this life seem to fit it perfectly.</p><p>(But everyone she knew before...they weren't powerful or fantastical. They were normal. Average in the worst and best ways.</p><p>She wonders if they'd be jealous.)</p><p>Dumbledore changes her ratty shirt and shorts into a soft dress shirt and khaki shorts. It still feels wrong on her – the shorts too long and the shirt unfitted – but she hides them in her cupboard all the same.</p><p>He says he'll send someone to take her to get her supplies tomorrow. She nods.</p><p>"School starts in September," he says, and she nods again.</p><p>There's nothing else she can say.</p><p>('Help me', she thinks, but no words come out. She doesn't know if he'd even care.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Harry took care of the letter without the Dursleys knowing about it – Petunia doesn't even know that Harry got one, she just thought Dumbles came on his own – so she's still in the cupboard for the time being.</p><p>Also, though this is written for trans women as a sort of 'look, someone's in the wrong body and this is what trans people experience every day so here's a way you can hopefully comprehend that struggle', her gender will only be an aspect of the fic but not the focus. This is b/c, too frequently, LGBTQ+ movies/media are only about being LGBTQ+ rather than just a story that includes queer characters. As a queer person, it's always nice to read stories with fantasy/adventure plotlines with queer themes acknowledged rather than obfuscated or even overly described. That's not to say having a movie focused only on the subject of queerness is bad, just that I'd definitely rather watch She-Ra over watching Love Simon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Just the Beginning (So Much Farther to Go)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Yeh look so much like your dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes.”</p><p>Her heart stutters at those words. A peculiar feeling of loss she doesn't understand envelopes her. It's not like she knew her parents this time around, but she holds this piece of them close all the same.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>YO, I’m back and I’ll be more frequently updating this thing. ALSO, to anyone who’s wondering, Dudley’s birthday passes with literally no fanfare, so I wrote a teeny blurb to acknowledge it but I legit forgot to post it (it wasn’t even a complete blurb anyway, so it’s no big deal.) ANYWAY, Dudley’s birthday passes with zero events happening besides the standard Dursley breakfast routine, presents, going to the zoo, getting ice cream, etc. but she hates snakes so she wouldn’t go up to any of the snakes to have any sort of conversation or anything. So just, no conflicts or getting locked in the cupboard, but also no snake conversation. </p><p>The story’s going to be more in-depth and descriptive of action rather than emotion in the next few chapters cuz plot shizzle begins to happen, and dialogue begins to increase/actions change. Please tell me if it feels sudden or like it totally screws with the tone/voice of the fic. Or if you absolutely hate it and want me to try to remove details. I'm trying to not make it too rushed so the pace slows from this point on but I do also want you guys to still enjoy reading it, so don't be afraid to say your thoughts on the change of pace (good or bad).</p><p>I want to note that, within the first book, it’s going to have some similar conflicts, but let’s just say that the interactions are going to change, the way she handles any conflicts will change, which will cause even more plot changes, etc. etc.  But, the first year… well, even with conflict changes, the more major ramifications of her off the book decisions won’t be as prominent until the second year. Basically, it’s going to be very different and not have any of the same socialization and events as it goes along, but the major overarching plot isn’t as affected in this book as it is in others. If you think on it, maybe you can start to guess them though? Foreshadowing *jazz hands*</p><p>The date of this chapter for Harry is August 1st, not July 31st like in the books.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next day, a giant breaks down the door. Despite his size, he looks kind, but Harry still finds herself inching away from him all the same. The door rests heavily on the ground, bits of wood from the wall stuck to the hinges. The ginormous man somehow looks sheepish, hand raised as if to knock, showing how he accomplished breaking the locked door down. She finds herself impressed – in awe of his strength.</p><p>Vernon grabs the poker by the fire, swinging it at the man in a terrified fury she can for once understand. A few spare ashes fly off the tip and float pathetically in the air, a tiny cloud of sparkling darkness; a glittering dichotomy of light and shadow.</p><p>She holds a rag in her hands, standing frozen on the stairs with her hand still on the banister she's dusting. The man's deep black eyes flick towards Vernon, Petunia cowering behind him, then her, a flash of recognition passing through his stare.</p><p>The man takes one large step over the door, shuffling slightly in the small landing before gripping the top of the door in one massive fist and fitting it back into the giant hole its absence left behind. With more space in the landing, the man settles closer to the bottom of the stairs, not even sparing Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia another glance as his gaze falls to Harry once again. Harry glances back as she hears Dudley rush out of his room, stopping to gawk at the destruction from the top of the stairs.</p><p>“Er, sorry about that,” the man says, breaking the awkward silence with his accented voice, “don't know me own strength sometimes.”</p><p>Harry thinks that's quite an understatement.</p><p>“Ah, Harry,” the man says, smiling at her, “yeh've grown since I las' saw yeh. Yeh look so much like your dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes.”</p><p>Her heart stutters at those words. A peculiar feeling of loss she doesn't understand envelopes her. It's not like she knew her parents this time around, but she holds this piece of them close all the same.</p><p>“Nice to meet you properly, then,” Harry chokes out, and watches Vernon bristle beside her at her words.</p><p>“Shut up, boy!” Vernon yells, and Harry winces, glaring as she diverts her eyes to the ground with a huff.</p><p>“Who are you?!” Vernon shouts at the man, spittle flying from his lips as he waves the poker wildly, “I demand you leave my house at once, you are breaking and entering!”</p><p>The giant man regards him with a long, disdainful look.</p><p>“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” the man says, grabbing the tip of the poker and yanking it roughly from Vernon's hands before tossing it behind him. Her uncle wheezes at the tug, hands empty and sputtering for control he can't find.</p><p>“Are you the man Dumbledore sent?” Harry asks, despite already knowing the answer.</p><p>The man beams, pride seeming to radiate off his face. “Sure am,” he says, “tol' me yeh needed some help getting yer supplies, an' he asked for me himself.”</p><p>“Who are you then?” Harry asks.</p><p>“Ah, right, need to introduce meself, don't I? Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,” Hagrid says, grabbing Harry's entire arm within his hand and shaking it roughly. Harry can't even say she's surprised by the force, but it still rattles her enough to make her stumble. Her glasses fall crookedly down her nose, though she pushes them back up as soon as she's able to.</p><p>“Need to get goin' soon, but first, I got summat to give yer. A late birthday gift –“ putting his hand in one of his many coat pockets, he begins pulling out a box – “I mighta sat on it at some point, but I reckon it'll still taste alright.”</p><p>Hagrid hands her the beaten up box and she opens it tentatively, face breaking out in a smile at the contents. A large chocolate cake stares up at her from within the box, 'Happy Birthday Harry' scrawled across it in green icing.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Hagrid,” she says sincerely.</p><p>He laughs warmly at that. “Jus' like yer mother,” he says, eyes shiny, “call me Hagrid, everyone does.”</p><p>She nods, blushing even though she doesn't quite know why. Still holding the box, she sets the rag down at the end of the banister.</p><p>“Er, uh, should I bring anything, Mr. - I mean, Hagrid?” she starts, awkward. Harry looks down at her clothes – the one's Dumbledore changed for her – and back to her cupboard. It's not like she has any money, but she did make sure to wear the nicest clothes she has. She hopes that's enough. Though, she wonders if she should bring the cake with her or awkwardly stick it in her cupboard. The thought of exposing her small room to Hagrid is uncomfortable and violating. She needs to eat breakfast anyway so she doesn't see the harm in bringing the cake with her. It's not like she'll have anything else to carry, and Hagrid might even be willing to put it back in his pocket for her. Besides, she doesn't trust the Dursleys not to steal it while she's out with the groundskeeper.</p><p>It's when she's stepping off of the stairs that Vernon finally gains the courage to speak once again.</p><p>“Absolutely not!” he says, “you are not going with that – that freak! I forbid it!”</p><p>Hagrid's demeanor shifts.</p><p>“I'm going,” Harry says, steeling her young voice as much as she can, “besides, I thought you'd be happy to get me out of the house for so long.”</p><p>Vernon sputters, “well yes, but – but not if you're going to be learning <em>that</em> rubbish! I will not tolerate a-a <em>learned </em>freak in this house! No, I won't!”</p><p>“I'd like to see a great muggle like yeh try to stop him,” Hagrid says.</p><p>Harry snorts into her hand to hide her laugh, grin curling out from beneath her small fingers.</p><p>“We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon, “swore we’d stamp it out of him! Wizard, indeed!”</p><p>“Well clearly that didn't work,” Harry says, mumbling it into the cake box with the security of knowing that Uncle Vernon wouldn't try anything physical with her whilst Hagrid is present.</p><p>Petunia's glare finds Harry and she tries to match it; eyes narrowed and full of annoyance. When Petunia flinches minutely at the look, Harry finds herself pondering what Hagrid told her once more. She knows her mother was Petunia's sister. Does seeing her sister's eyes in the child she scorns hurt her?</p><p>“Do I ever remind you of her?” Harry asks softly, surprising herself with the words. She wasn't planning to say them, and she's not the most curious person when it comes to the Dursleys anyway. It's as if she'd been compelled; some odd sense of fondness in her crying out for a scrap of memory to hang onto.</p><p>Aunt Petunia flinches fully this time, letting down her mask of anger for a moment. Grief, horror, shame, envy – so many emotions fly across her face, shuttering closed before Harry can even begin to start processing them.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she says, but there is no affection in her voice. It is cold and venomous, tearing out of her throat like a curse.</p><p>Her aunt doesn't elaborate. Harry doesn't know if she's glad for that or not.</p><p>Harry sighs, moving toward the door.</p><p>“Alright, Hagrid. There's no use wasting time here, is there?”</p><p>“Right,” he says, “better get going then, Harry. Lots to do.”</p><p>Uncle Vernon looks about to start up another rant but, surprisingly, Petunia lays a hand on his arm, shaking her head softly. Her face is bitter still, but there is resignation in the lines of her shoulders. Vernon sees it too and, although his face flashes with vehement hatred as he gives one last scathing look to Harry and Hagrid, he stomps off all the same.</p><p>It feels too easy, but she shrugs it off. She puts on her ratty trainers, fumbling with the soft, worn laces as she ties them as tight as she can. They are still too big, hanging off her feet like clown shoes.</p><p>Heavy and clunky like stones - a physical manifestation of all the burdens she walks with.</p><p>As a matter of fact, it <em>is</em> too easy. Vernon marches back, this time with the home phone in his hands, waving it in his hands as if it's a weapon.</p><p>“The boy's a no-good, dirty thief,” Vernon spits at the tall, giant of a man, “A thief born from a drunk and a whore! He's your problem now, now get out of my house before I call the police!”</p><p>“Well, I never – !” Hagrid starts, as Harry attempts to pull Hagrid's considerable weight out of the front door. 'Attempts' being the key word.</p><p>Harry rolls her eyes at the slight, despite the panic rising in her throat at the very real possibility of a physical altercation. Uncle Vernon's technically not <em>wrong, </em>after all. But, the Dursleys are slightly pathetic to her at this point. All they like to do is spread lies about her and she wonders what gratification they get out of it. Hell, she’d be fine if they tell Hagrid things she <em>actually </em>does – like stealing Vernon’s socks so they’ll never be a complete pair or tearing the slightest of holes into Petunia’s pantyhose so that they rip when she puts them on.</p><p>But, she supposes she’s guileful enough to get away with her small acts of vengeance, so they have to make up lies to pretend as though their behavior is justified. She sometimes wishes they knew if only so she could feel the satisfaction that came with seeing their angry faces.</p><p>But then, it probably wouldn’t be worth the bruises.</p><p>Considering the issue at hand – the giant man looking about ready to tear another hole in the wall – she thinks it doesn't really matter what the Dursleys do or don't do. As long as she can assure a police free day, she'll be happy.</p><p>If only Hagrid would help her in avoiding that as well.</p><p>“Hagrid, come on,” she hisses, tuning out his rant to push at his immovable wall of a body, “you don't want the police getting involved, do you? Please, let's just go.”</p><p>Hagrid deflates at that, grabbing Harry's arm none too gently, and pounding out the door in a furious rage.</p><p>“James Potter, a drunk? What sort of rubbish...” she tunes out Hagrid's murderous mutters with ease, jogging to keep up with his quick pace. It turns out that being a quarter of the size of someone causes issues when trying to walk together. Who knew?</p><p> </p><p>In addition to their uncomfortable jog to the Underground, the ride to their destination is a strange affair. How Hagrid fits through the door, much less fits into the seats is a question she thinks she's not alone in pondering. The other passengers ogle at Hagrid, taking up three seat spaces altogether at <em>least.</em></p><p>Harry barely takes up one, for once feeling grateful for her new body's small stature as Hagrid complains loudly about the slowness of the train and the size of the seats.</p><p>Hagrid pulls out a newspaper at one point, titled <em>The Daily Prophet. </em>The photos swirl on it, puddles of ink drifting around like a movie. Harry frantically pulls the paper out of Hagrid's hands, flinching at the loud <em>rip </em>of the paper tearing. There goes any chance at handling it subtly now.</p><p>“Sorry,” she mumbles at Hagrid's gobsmacked stare. She quickly shoves as much as she can in the closest pocket, ignoring the whispers of the other passengers.</p><p>“The pictures were <em>moving</em>,” she says, voice low, “I just didn't want anyone to see. I didn't mean to tear it.”</p><p>Hagrid nods, face blushing fiercely when he realizes his error.</p><p>“Ah, right, that's, er, good job, Harry,” Hagrid says, embarrassment practically bleeding through his pores, “blimey good reflexes yeh've got there. Didn't even see yeh coming.”</p><p>“Thanks, I'm pretty fast.”</p><p>“O'course yeh are, with yer dad being who he was.”</p><p>“What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“Yer dad was the greates' chaser Hogwarts has ever seen. I reckon yeh'll take after him an' follow in his footsteps.”</p><p>“Uh,” she says, trying to parse out the meaning behind Hagrid's words. She hopes he doesn't think she knows anything important. All Dumbledore told her was some small differences between muggles and magical people, what Hogwarts will mean for her, and a small bit of who exactly <em>she </em>is.</p><p>She'll have to grab a book on Lord Voldemort (or whatever his name was) sometime. It'd be embarrassing not knowing more than the bare roots of her own story.</p><p>For now, though:</p><p>“What's a chaser?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I did use a bit of dialogue from the book, but it went differently because Petunia and Dumbledore talked yesterday, and subsequently, Petunia talked to Vernon. Thus, Vernon is less insistent on Harry not going because 1.) he knows he doesn’t have to pay for Harry’s school in this (since Dumbledore assured Petunia that it was already covered) 2.) Dumbledore did his dumbly thing and made sure there was no way he could refuse Harry from going to school without a bunch of wizards coming to the house and stealing Harry away anyway.</p><p>Also, as I wrote above, this chapter occurs a day after Harry goes to Diagon Alley in the books. The day before Hagrid comes in this is Harry's actual birthday, so she’s going on August 1st this time around, not July 31st. This means she’ll avoid, well, quite a lot of things, cuz I’m assuming a part of the reason Diagon was so crowded was because it was Harry’s birthday. This means, well, you’ll see...👀</p><p>This OC’s uhh, a very passive conversationalist. She mainly listens, but besides that? She doesn’t say much besides asking questions and sometimes interjecting, so I’m sorry if the dialogue isn’t that interesting on her part for rn, but it’s realistic for how I'm characterizing her and just, I’m trying to make her thoughts interesting to make up for it? And other people’s dialogue will change <em>greatly</em> from this point on (I swear the socialization gets much more varied and off script and I’ve been having fun with it), so that will hopefully be interesting as well. I’ve written almost the whole first book as of rn, so I’m not saying it lightly, there’s def lots of new dialogue and interactions in it. (Though I do use a select few bits of J.K’s dialogue when it just doesn’t make sense to change it — only other people’s words though, not Harry’s (aka Snape’s potion class speech wouldn’t change, nor would Dumbledore’s feast speech, etc.))</p><p>ANYWAY, I finally made a tumblr! Come yell at me!:<br/><a href="https://cleothedreamer.tumblr.com/">CleotheDreamer Tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Growing Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>There are no mobile phones in sight; just people hurrying past each other down a street 100s of miles away from the origin of her existence.</p><p>It makes her feel small.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I made a playlist for this fic!! It's got songs with vibes that just tangentially remind me of Harry/this story, while others are uncannily accurate (*cough* all the radical face songs *cough*). There's a <em>lot</em> of variety in this, so you might like some whilst also hating others: <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Noaj87KNRTfmlOF50glaN?si=FeOK68kqQmGockRxCayu-g">Long Live the Reckless Playlist</a></p><p>She loves shopping so expect her to show that love here, which is honestly both beneficial to the plot and also to show who she is, so like, go Harry! Shop your heart out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a long conversation filled with Hagrid ranting to her about Quidditch and other things – most notably Dumbledore, the one part of the wizarding world she's actually come in contact with ironically enough – they reach their stop. Before leaving the train, she asks Hagrid if he can keep the cake in his pockets during their shopping and he obliges eagerly – displacing any guilt she might've had about asking him to carry it.</p><p>She's never been to London before. She feels like a tourist trudging through the busy streets, the sights and smells mesmerizing her. Harry stares at the people walking down the sidewalk dressed in early 90s fashion. There are no mobile phones in sight; just people hurrying past each other down a street 100s of miles away from the origin of her existence.</p><p>It makes her feel small.</p><p>(The inside-of-the-cupboard kind of small.</p><p>The good kind of small, where it's safe and the world outside feels infinite. Where she feels insignificant in a way that's refreshing – soothing her of responsibility and any self-importance she may feel.</p><p>She's small and that's calming.)</p><p> </p><p>The place Hagrid leads her to is rundown but quaint. A sign creaks above the door, labeling it 'The Leaky Cauldron'.</p><p>Walking in, she feels a zing up her spine. The air is heavy with the scent of ozone. It tastes like the aftermath of a lightning strike and contrasts sharply with the savory smells wafting out of the kitchen and the alcoholic air tinging far too many patrons. She shuffles closer to Hagrid but keeps her back as straight as she can and her chin up so that she can see what’s going on. It's a hard feat with the hazy, smoke-filled air filling up her vision, but she examines the room as best she can.</p><p>The barman calls out to Hagrid, asking if he wants the usual.</p><p>“Can't, Tom, Hogwarts business,” Hagrid says, hand swinging down towards Harry's shoulder. Already used to Hagrid's above-average strength (an understatement), she attempts to dodge the hand. She stumbles sideways, feeling rather uncomposed as she tries to find a way to explain why she jolted to the side.</p><p>“Er, sorry Hagrid,” she says, before noticing Tom's eyes on her.</p><p>“Good Lord,” Tom says, eyes round and wide as they stare shamelessly at Harry's forehead, “is this – can this be –?”</p><p>She finds herself not needing to explain her strange footwork as Tom ignores the action entirely, rushing around the counter to grip her hand in a wrinkled palm.</p><p>“Bless my soul. Harry Potter, what an honor,” the man says, shaking her arm up and down in a way that might have been comical did it not feel like her arm is about to fall off.</p><p>Her attempts to dodge Hagrid seem to do more harm than good now that there's no giant limb to hide behind. Instead of a heavy hand on her shoulder, she receives arm-numbing handshakes from every one of the pub's patrons.</p><p>After the longest ten minutes of her lifetime(s), Hagrid finally steps in to handle the situation. She tries to reign in her annoyance at the man, but <em>really</em>. Couldn't he have stepped in sooner? Or perhaps not drawn attention to her at all?</p><p>She knows he's not ill-spirited, but that just makes it worse. It's hard to feel angry at someone who doesn't mean harm.</p><p>“Must get on – lots ter buy. Come on, Harry,” Hagrid says, voice rising above the din of the crowd.</p><p>This time, she doesn't dodge the hand on her shoulder pushing her towards the back of the bar. They exit into a small barren courtyard, no exits besides the door they just came through. For what she's assuming is an entrance to the wizarding world – or wherever they're going to buy her supplies – it seems rather simple.</p><p>Simple isn't bad, though, so she waits for Hagrid to lead her to their final destination.</p><p>“See, yer famous Harry.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she agrees noncommittally. Being famous is awkward, especially for something she can't even remember. Maybe she can at least get something out of it if she can hang out with other celebrities... Then again, the wizarding world probably lacks the celebrities she actually remembers from her old life.</p><p>Hagrid taps at the bricks, quietly narrating, “Three up... two across. Right, stand back, Harry.”</p><p>She does so quickly, not wanting to risk whatever magical mayhem might come out of the wall. A brick starts loosening out of its place, others following to create a large archway. Beyond the archway, a long cobbled street weaves between whimsical buildings. Strange merchandise lay in piles outside of the storefronts. She watches with wide eyes as the doorway back to the Leaky Cauldron closes behind them.</p><p>She's seen magic before, but never so much in one place. It's evident in the pointed hats people wear and the groceries floating casually beside shoppers. One shop has cauldrons piled high outside its door. The one beside it has teetering stacks of spellbooks. Another has a conglomeration of toys whizzing and popping like something out of a children's movie.</p><p>Which, well, isn't she <em>in</em> a children's movie (and book)? It shouldn't be surprising, but watching the madness in front of her, she's stunned all the same.</p><p>“Welcome to Diagon Alley,” Hagrid says, smiling at her.</p><p>She follows Hagrid in the space he makes parting through the crowd, grateful once again for her small size even whilst running to keep up with his large gait.</p><p>“Where are we going first, Hagrid?” she asks, panting a little.</p><p>He looks back to her, eyes filled with excitement that she knows matches her own.</p><p>“Gringotts, the Wizard bank. Yeh'd be mad ter rob it, got all sorts of spells an' enchantments on it. Dragons, too.”</p><p>“Dragons, huh? Really?</p><p>He nods, “Yeah, wanted one ever since I were a kid.”</p><p>She nods, eyeing the large white building they're heading towards. It seems like the only thing that could be a bank on the street.</p><p>“I can see why,” she says, thinking about how cool it would be to have a pet dragon. She wonders if any can stay small or if they'll all grow massive like the ones she's seen in stories and movies.</p><p>Two short creatures stand on either side of the bank's door, clearly not human, and she stares at them – it's rude, but she's too astonished to notice.</p><p>“Yeah, that's a goblin,” Hagrid answers her unasked question.</p><p>“Oh, interesting.”</p><p>They bow at her as she passes and she inclines her head towards them instinctively.</p><p>After the first large doors stand a second pair, engraved with a poem:</p><p>
  <em>Enter, stranger, but take heed</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of what awaits the sin of greed,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> For those who take, but do not earn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Must pay most dearly in their turn,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> So if you seek beneath our floors</em>
</p><p>
  <em> A treasure that was never yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thief, you have been warned, beware</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Of finding more than treasure there.</em>
</p><p>She shivers a little at the threatening message, even though she knows she isn't going to steal from a <em>bank</em> anytime soon.</p><p>Hagrid notices, saying “Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it.”</p><p>She nods, “Yeah, it seems like it.”</p><p>The hall beyond the second doorway is massive and elegant. The goblins busily handle gold and other metals and fine stones behind a long, tall counter.</p><p>Hagrid leads her to one of the goblins amongst those serving customers.</p><p>“Morning, we’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s safe.”</p><p>“You have his key, sir?” the goblin says, polite words not matching his annoyed tone.</p><p>“Got it 'ere somewhere,” Hagrid says, pulling out heaps of miscellaneous items from within his coat pockets.</p><p>“Got it,” he says, pulling a small golden key from the pile of objects.</p><p>“That seems to be in order,” the goblin says, showing remarkable patience for Hagrid's strange display. As someone who used to work in customer service, she's impressed.</p><p>“Ah, I've also got a letter 'ere from Professor Dumbledore,” Hagrid says, throwing out his chest. Harry finds herself slightly amused by his hero-worship of the man. “It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”</p><p>Hagrid eyes her cautiously as he says this, and she looks away to avoid any awkward staredowns. Sounds weird, sure, but it's probably just boring school stuff that students aren't supposed to be privy to. Not really caring about schoolboard drama, she gazes at the magnificent expanse of architecture in the halls instead and tunes out the conversation.</p><p>Eventually, they follow a different goblin, Griphook, to a narrow passageway cutting jaggedly through the earth. The air is cool and refreshing on her skin. The scent of groundwater lingers in the passage and she drags her hand along the walls, feeling the hard, wet rock glide smoothly under her fingers.</p><p>It makes her feel like she's in a cave, the distant sounds of dripping water echoing in the small space. She feels buried by the Earth above her as they descend, finding it ironic that only whilst she's alive will she know what it's like to be deep underground. She thinks her old skeleton might know as well, but that's too dark to ponder on for long. She's far deeper than any grave would ever be when Griphook leads them to a railway track. He whistles and a small cart rushes up towards him like a dog eager to please its master.</p><p>They climb in, cramping the cart with the three of them altogether, and speed down the tracks. She sits and lets the wind wash over her, imagining she's riding on a rollercoaster in the state amusement park she went to so many times, so long ago. How her friends and she rode down into the water, felt the smallest of splashes and mist fall over their faces just like the moisture flicking onto her face now.</p><p>It's almost relaxing, even as she feels the thrill of adrenaline whip through her short hair (<strike>Petunia won't let her grow it out</strike>). She's always loved rollercoasters; she feels a smile pulling at her lips, lets it bloom into a grin.</p><p>She thinks this is the first time she's smiled in years – a full, genuine smile with teeth showing and cheeks aching. A flash of something reddish-orange flickers in her vision as they speed past one of the many caverns alongside the track. She thinks, perhaps, she should visit a theme park sometime soon – take friends and try to pretend as if life is how it once was when she was tall, beautiful, and <em>Kenzie</em>. Just Kenzie.</p><p>She doesn't know if the tears in her eyes are from the nostalgic bitterness in her chest or the wind, but she blinks them away all the same.</p><p>Too soon, they slow to a stop beside a door carved into the rock wall. Griphook jumps out and she follows, helping Hagrid – who looks a little nauseous – out of the cart as well.</p><p>Griphook unlocks the door with the key and a cloud of green smoke fills the air before dissipating. It's the same hue as her eyes, and she flinches as she always does at the toxic color.</p><p>Behind the door lies a fortune she can't even begin to comprehend. Thousands of gold, silver, and bronze coins pile in front of her. She stalls, brain short-circuiting and an inexplicable anxiety forming in her chest alongside a good deal of astonishment.</p><p>Staring at the money as Hagrid whispers with a smile, “All yours,” she realizes something rather daunting. She is a child, alone, financially independent, and absolutely terrified of the implications of her future. She has no support, no family, no friends, no one to guide her.</p><p>She is alone, with all of the resources available to her to <em>keep</em> it that way and she doesn't know if she has the strength to not fall into the temptation of isolation this fortune gives her.</p><p>She could never work a day in her life after school. She could be a hermit and want for nothing.</p><p>She could fade away entirely, absolved of responsibility.</p><p>She already has no purpose, no explicable reason for existing.</p><p>But, she shakes her head. She is alone and she <em>hates </em>it. She hates her lack of socialization and she wants, so very strongly, for others to be allowed into her life. She is not comfortable with a future without love.</p><p>She is so scared to be alone, even if it's easy. Even if it seems so very terrifying to talk to people, she cannot go back to being alone.</p><p>She can't.</p><p>(She is a child, an adult, a teenager – a<em> person </em>in need of a rather large hug. She never liked tactile affection, but she's not as opposed to the idea in this moment; standing small and 11-years-old in front of a pile of money twice her size or more.)</p><p>She smiles despite the well of despair swirling in her throat.</p><p>At least she doesn't have to depend on the Dursleys anymore.</p><p>(After making sure Griphook can convert wizarding money to pounds, that is, in which she asks for him to transfer 100 Galleons into whatever the equivalent in pounds that would be.</p><p>She walks out of Gringotts with 500 pounds in a separate pouch.)</p><p> </p><p>Hagrid helps her fill up a bag full of money, explaining the currency as he goes. It's complicated and asinine and she thinks she understands why the rest of the world finds the U.S. stupid for its measurement system. Sure, learning metric in this life was easier, but she still feels partial to the customary system all the same.</p><p>She sometimes thinks she's wonderful at letting things go – until she isn't. It's humorous that the U.S. measuring system is one of those things she just can't help but cling to.</p><p>After filling her bag with enough money to buy six times what's on her school list and more (according to Griphook), they leave to Vault seven hundred and thirteen.</p><p>It's strange that they need to go to a vault to retrieve something for the school, but she focuses more on the fact that they get to ride once more on the small cart. She's only marginally guilty that she enjoys it so much despite Hagrid's outspoken dislike for it.</p><p>All the vault contains is a small, dirty brown paper package. She finds that odd, but really, what's she to know about wizarding things. Perhaps it's a package of important documents. Who knows?</p><p>She relishes the wind on her face as they rise back to the surface. It's cooling and invigorating She clutches tightly to the feeling; she never wants to let this moment go.</p><p> </p><p>Back in Diagon Alley, holding the heavy weight of her money pouch, she pulls out the Hogwarts shopping list.</p><p>“Might as well get yer uniform,” Hagrid says as he nods towards <em>Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions</em>.</p><p>“Listen, Harry would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts.”</p><p>Despite finding it a bit irresponsible of him to leave a fresh-faced wizarding world newbie to shop alone – nevermind the fact that her body is 11 – Harry says she doesn't mind and watches him go.</p><p>Madam Malkin looks kind, smiling at Harry as she enters the store.</p><p>“Hogwarts, dear?’” she says, “Got the lot here.”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks.”</p><p>She scans the shop as the woman leads her to a small stand. Immediately after she steps on the stool, Madam Malkin places a black robe over her head, beginning to pin it in various places to fit her frame.</p><p>She stands awkwardly, thinking on if she should approach a conversation with the woman or not, but deciding against it to watch the measuring tape float in the air and swirl around her body.</p><p>A fair amount of time in, she sees Hagrid's large frame in the window. He's pointing at two ice cream cones, grinning widely and she smiles softly back, waving.</p><p>“There, done, my dear,” Madam Malkin says, stepping back from a now blushing Harry. She's so <em>nice. </em>The term of endearment is new and her stomach flutters from it, feeling a burst of affection bubble in her chest.</p><p>Dear <em>god</em>, she's said a total of two words to this woman and she's already developing an attachment.</p><p>“Thank you,” she replies, stepping off the stool and gathering the robes. She quickly looks through the 'young wizards' section, rifling through the robes(of which she snags a black one accented with green and silver embroidery and a deep maroon one) before finding pants and shirts. This section, labeled 'muggle clothing', is sparse in comparison to the extensive assortment of robes. Grabbing three pairs of jeans, three pairs of athletic shorts, and four plain tees colored in blue, grey, black, and red, she shuffles back to the front. The clothes balance awkwardly on her arms, and she knows her face is red behind the pile of fabric.</p><p>She doesn't know if she'll get another chance to shop again, though, and she rather hates the idea of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs any longer. Here, at least she can grab some 'casual wizard's clothes' (which is ridiculous, considering robes seem so impractical and archaic – hardly casual) as well as things to wear over the summer or out of uniform at school. It will make her feel infinitely better to have nicer clothing in her size, with colors that flatter her. She's not ready to risk buying women's clothing yet, but she thinks the long robes might feel like a dress – especially the embroidered one – so she's excited to wear them despite their heaviness.</p><p>She pays as fast as she can, guilty at leaving Hagrid in the heat with frozen treats for so long. Well, he hadn't <em>told</em> her he was getting ice cream so she hadn't felt the need to share that she'd be spending some of her extra money from Gringott's to shop for more than just Hogwarts' robes.</p><p>Madam Malkin packs all of the clothing in one bag, assuring Harry that it's feather-light and that the robes are adjustable through all seven years – even the ones that aren't part of the school uniform. Harry's sad the same can't be true about the more casual muggle clothing, but she supposes she likes shopping anyway and there's always next year to come with any friends she might make. Maybe with the British pounds in her other pouch, she can shop for muggle clothing on her own during the summer. Though it might be better to save that money for food and other necessities like toiletries – and a new pair of trainers would be appreciated as well. Perhaps she could even buy material possessions like makeup or jewelry that she's not gotten the chance to indulge in this life. It could be travel money, even, if she ever needs to get away from the Dursleys.</p><p>She takes the bags and feels, for the first time, like an adult.</p><p>It's odd.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, no Draco, no Quirrell (unless he spends every day at the leaky cauldron??) and possibly no Dedalus Diggle (I could actually see him spending every day at the Leaky Cauldron). But eh, I skimmed over that scene anyway in a way that I didn’t have to name names.</p><p>I'll probably be updating around every Sunday or other! I'm also really bad at answering comments cuz it takes a lot of energy, but I always will eventually so if I don't answer for a bit, I'm not ignoring you, dw!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Objects of Permanence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A part of her is scared of the future. She can't forget that this story ends in a war, after all. She hates it, but she needs to be prepared.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love Hagrid and I feel like this story translates that love. Robbie Coltrane, on the other hand, fills me with immeasurable rage. Hagrid's accent is very hard to put into words, but I feel like I got it? (Also, I'm wondering if his accent is offensive b/c I saw someone say it was acting as though he was 'stupid' but I just thought it helped translate a Scottish accent (EDIT: west country accent)? Tell me if I'm wrong though!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside, Hagrid and her eat the ice cream in a comfortable silence. The ice cream, chocolate and raspberry with nuts, somehow isn't melted at all. She suspects that's another perk to magic.</p><p>She finds herself almost jealous. Despite having magic now, she's never been able to truly experience it before this day. It feels so late in her life to discover all of its luxuries.</p><p>“How was Malkin's?” Hagrid asks. He finished his ice cream before she'd come out, so he's taken to people watching as they sit on a bench across the street from the shop.</p><p>The sun is warm and she leans into it, tiredness wearing down upon her. She has the strange urge to lean into Hagrid's shoulder.</p><p>“It was good,” she says, giving in to the urge slightly and touching her shoulder to his arm, “Madam Malkin was nice, and I got some more clothes I needed for the summer.”</p><p>“Smart boy,” Hagrid compliments, “yeh really do take after yer mum, dontcha?”</p><p>Harry blushes. Hagrid keeps saying that and, for some reason, it's nice to hear. “I guess. I don't know, she sounds cool though.”</p><p>Hagrid laughs, “Yeah, she was. Wish yeh coulda met her.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p> </p><p>They get her books next, from a place called Flourish and Blotts. She buys the standard books on her list, as well as asking the man behind the desk for any books that would help people new to the wizarding world. He points her to a section labeled 'muggleborn' and she adds a few of the books to her pile. She's actually interested in learning it, which is surprising considering her past history with recreational <em>and </em>academic reading – though her relationship with recreational reading has changed in this life. However much she once despised extra research that wasn't for a grade, she thinks all standards go out the window when it comes to magic. She also knows it's necessary considering how out of the loop she is on even her own <em>parents</em>. Besides, despite hating academic reading, she does like <em>learning.</em></p><p>And, a part of her is scared of the future. She can't forget that this story ends in a war, after all. She hates it, but she needs to be prepared. Honestly, just buying the 'new muggleborn students' books is something she should do even if there isn't a chance of coming conflict. She's already forgotten the wizarding currency system, it'll be nice to have a paper guide to those sorts of things.</p><p>One of the books is a very bare-bones introduction to the magical government, while the others present things like basic history, culture, and spells/enchantments/potions that everyone knows even if they're not in the first-year curriculum. She's sure this includes nothing she'll really need to fulfill whatever role she's found herself in, but she can only hope that it will help her at least fill the boredom of the coming month. She's not even sure why she finds the thought of extra reading daunting considering how much time there is before school begins where she'll be sitting in her cupboard with nothing to do <em>but</em> read.</p><p>She'd rather read romance novels though, but she supposes she has enough money to buy some.</p><p>Walking out of the store with a beginner's guide to most everything she could think to need with her limited knowledge and a stack of four corny looking romance novels (three magical and a muggle favorite of hers, 'A Rose in Winter') she knows Hagrid thinks she's odd.</p><p>(The last one picked for gym class. The one who teachers like but students don't. The one whose cousin hates her. The one who was tested by officials at age six and declared a 'kid genius'.</p><p>She's used to being odd – especially in this life – but she doesn't like it. She doesn't know how to <em>stop</em> being odd, though. She wouldn't even know where to begin.)</p><p>After getting her cauldron and potion supplies – this she's rather excited about, considering her love of baking and interest in making things – Hagrid mentions the item she's most been looking forward to.</p><p>“Just yer wand left,” he says, “oh yeah, an’ I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”</p><p>“But you already got me the cake – “</p><p>“I know, but I'd like to get yeh summat else, too. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at – an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’.”</p><p>An <em>owl?</em> She's suddenly so much more glad she bought those 'introduction to the wizarding world' books because what on<em> Earth </em>is up with these people?</p><p>Though, she can't say having an owl as a pet wouldn't be the coolest thing in the world.</p><p>“Thanks,” she says, trying to convey how genuinely grateful she is through the word, “you're an awesome gift giver.”</p><p>They walk to Eeyloops Owl Emporium, heading straight into the mayhem without stopping at the store's stench. Harry finds herself in love with the creatures inside. She'll need to figure out Hagrid's birthday so she can give him a gift of equal measure. Maybe something dragon-themed.</p><p>“Thank you, Hagrid. <em>Really</em>,” she says, smiling softly at the bird she chooses – a snowy white owl she knows fits the narrative because of the stuffed animal version her friend had kept on a chair in her room – “I love her.”</p><p>“Don’ mention it. Don’ expect yeh’ve had a lotta presents from them Dursleys,” he responds, eyes averted in that way she's realizing is bashfulness, “Just Ollivanders left now – only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.”</p><p>Her <em>wand.</em></p><p>With the whole learning-wizards-have-owls-for-pets thing, she almost forgot.</p><p>Ollivanders is a small and run-down place. In the middle of the already antiquated architecture of Diagon Alley, she finds it sort of impressive how much older it seems. Gold paint flakes off the cracked door reading, <em>Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC</em>.</p><p>Well, that's certainly a long time. She wonders if she'll be around for that many years.</p><p>Perhaps she'll fade to dust before then. The thought is appealing.</p><p>Entering the shop, a bell rings out, soft and melodious in the air. The air is heavy with that electric feeling once again. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she breathes in a heady mixture of what she's assuming is dust and magic. Scanning the small room, she sees organized towers of long, slim boxes. <em>Wand</em> boxes.</p><p>“Good afternoon,” a soft voice says. She startles, twisting to face the source of the noise. She hears a crunch behind her, and the sound of Hagrid stumbling off the chair he seated himself in.</p><p>Before her is a man with wild white hair and shimmering silver eyes. He stares unblinkingly at Harry as she stutters a 'good afternoon' in reply.</p><p>“Ah yes,” the man, Mr. Ollivander she assumes, says, “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.”</p><p>She grimaces as he looks at her unerringly. How he knows her name she doesn't really understand, but she supposes she <em>is</em> famous.</p><p>“You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work,” he says it quickly, and she's briefly reminded of Avery when she talks of her interests. The thought is dispelled when Ollivander leans in closer to Harry, still unblinking as his eyes shine like spotlights through the dark and dusty air of the shop.</p><p>“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course,” he says it as if she should know, and she once again curses her lack of knowledge. She hates studying in the first place, she would rather not have to add in the extra work to learn all of these trivial things when she could just listen to a friend ramble to her about it. Considering Ollivander is certainly not a friend, it's just as unenjoyable as if she were learning about it from a textbook.</p><p>Ollivander leans in closer, and she steps back, sure her displeasure is visible on her face.</p><p>“And that’s where ...” Ollivander reaches out to touch the scar on Harry’s forehead, and she steps back once more.</p><p>“Uh, please don't,” she says, gut twisting. She feels uncomfortable at both his words and his proximity.</p><p>“Of course, of course,” he mutters, stepping back, “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do...”</p><p>She frowns, “Look, I don't really – “</p><p>He cuts her off, seemingly only just noticing Hagrid despite his large form.</p><p>“Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again. Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“It was, sir, yes.”</p><p>“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” Ollivander says, and she feels her face twist further in displeasure. This man really has no boundaries, does he?</p><p>“Er – yes, they did, yes,” Hagrid says awkwardly, before perking up “I’ve still got the pieces, though!”</p><p>“But you don’t use them?” Ollivander asks, eyes narrowing. Harry has the strong desire to throttle the man.</p><p>“Oh, no, sir,” Hagrid responds, and she groans a little in annoyance as Ollivander hums suspiciously.</p><p>His sharp eyes find her again, “Well, now – Mr. Potter,” he starts, and she worries he's going to lecture her before he continues, “Let me see.”</p><p>Pulling out a tape measure, he asks, “Which is your wand arm?”</p><p>“My right, I think? I'm right-handed.”</p><p>“Hold out your arm. That’s it,” he says, the tape measure twisting around her with magic like in Madam Malkin's shop. Perhaps measuring for wands needs to be more precise, she thinks, as the man measures the space between her nostrils. She furrows her eyebrows all the same at its strangeness, though.</p><p>“Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter,” she winces at the title but doesn't correct him, “We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”</p><p>Well, that seems useful to know.</p><p>As the tape measure does its job, Ollivander begins gathering a pile of boxes in his hands, setting them on his desk.</p><p>“That will do,” he cuts in and the tape measure tumbles to the floor, appearing almost like a dead snake.</p><p>“Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”</p><p>She takes it excitedly, flicking it with her wrist and then flinching as Ollivander tears it out of her hand almost immediately after he hands it to her.</p><p>Before she can ask him why he did that, he pushes another into her arms.</p><p>“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –“</p><p>And again, and again, until she's quite sure Ollivander's not even letting her truly try the wands before he moves on. Especially considering how happy the man seems at the situation.</p><p>“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”</p><p>She's sure her face shows some of her exasperation, but she takes the wand into her hand anyway. For a moment, it feels as if something grand will happen, before he takes the wand back, muttering, “no, no, no, but curious, very curious.”</p><p>Ignoring him, she begins rocking back on the heels of her feet a little. She's still got a little bit of excitement in her despite the disastrous attempts to find a wand so far, but she is beginning to get a little impatient. She's mostly surprised no one else has entered the shop. Perhaps that's another bit of magic: only one customer at a time, or something of the sort.</p><p>The man brings out a few more wands, all of them amounting to nothing, before staring deeply at her once more.</p><p>“Hmm, yes, yes, that could work.”</p><p>She perks up a little, hoping that he might have found a match as he turns back to rifle through the shelves once more.</p><p>He comes back out, a mahogany-colored box in his hands, and unwraps the paper within to reveal a pale pinkish-brown wood. An inch from the bottom a dark, centimeter-wide ring of wood circles the wand, and a hands-width above it another smaller ring of dark wood – slightly raised this time – creates a lip, sectioning off the handle of the wand. The handle is straight with a slight twist in the grain of the wood, but after the end of the lip, only one small bend curves halfway up the wand.</p><p>“Dogwood and Unicorn hair, 10 ¾ inches, quite flexible,” he says, lifting it delicately from its packaging.</p><p>She takes it into her hand, feeling its smooth ridges and bends. It feels like she's holding a mug of coffee on a winter day. A sense of wonder erupts in her chest, brimming out of her throat in a huff of a laugh.</p><p>She draws the wand in a slow arc, watching sparkling silver whisps float gently out of the tip.</p><p>Hagrid hollers behind her. The clapping of his large hands reverberates in her ears but she hardly pays any attention to him as she stares at the beautiful wand in her hand.</p><p>“Bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good,” Ollivander says, and she finally looks up to meet his gaze.</p><p>“Tricky customer indeed, hmph,” he takes the wand from her hands, turning to wrap it back in its box despite her displeasure at it being taken from her.</p><p>“What does that mean?” she asks, perhaps a little more aggressively than she means to, but Ollivander doesn't seem to notice. The man unnerves her and infuriates her in equal measures.</p><p>“Well, it was a rather simple solution, wasn't it?” he asks, and she can't quite tell if it's a rhetorical question or not. She shrugs, snatching the box he offers to her almost before he fully reaches his hand out. For the first time, she sees something human in him: the flash of amusement in his eyes at her possessiveness.</p><p>“Unicorn hair, dogwood, yes, yes, a clever wand. Noisy to compliment your quiet. Quite the balancing act, isn't it?”</p><p>She shrugs again, and he smiles, “Yes, well, the wand chooses the wizard, and I think we should expect the unexpected from you, Mr. Potter. Quite the conundrum...”</p><p>Harry shivers, avoiding those eyes. Despite knowing he mustn't have any clue about her <em>circumstances</em>, she fears for a second he can peer into her soul – see inside her mind.</p><p>She coughs a little at the uncomfortable air, looking back towards Hagrid whose eyes shine with pride.</p><p>“So, what should I do with the wand? Should I just keep it in the box until I need to use it or...?” she asks, looking between the long box within her hands and her shorts. The pocket is certainly not big enough to hold it and it seems impractical to leave it in the box when she could have it on her. Perhaps it's just her impatience to have the piece of wood in her hands again that has her asking the question. Really, though, she thinks it's the nagging feeling of incompleteness. It feels as if she's not done everything she's supposed to. Like she's missing something; how can it be so simple?</p><p>“Ah, a lover of wands, are you?” he asks, perking up a little. She supposes it's true, though she's unsure how he came to that conclusion. Maybe he'd noticed how slowly she seemed to want to take them into her hands – prolonging the small amount of time Ollivander gave her to look at them.</p><p>Even the wands that turned out not to be hers were lovely to hold and examine. They were gorgeous. Whether sculpted or roughly hewn, she felt the need to trail her finger down the edges.</p><p>Of course, Ollivander hadn't let her with how quickly he moved through the wands, but she still had the desire.</p><p>“Yeah,” she nods, “they're pretty.”</p><p>And really, that's all she has to say, isn't it? Wands are beautiful. She wants to look at the rest lining the shelves behind Ollivanders head but she doesn't know if he'll let her. She doesn't think they even have the time. There's also the owl to account for.</p><p>“Well, then, Mr. Potter,” he reaches under the shop's desk, pulling out a box of cleaning supplies and a display case that's too shaded in the sparse light of the store to see, “Where would you like to start?”</p><p>“Uh, is there a place to start that's better than the other?” she asks, a hint of anxiety tugging at her chest.</p><p>“No,” Ollivander says, a smile curling at his lips, eyes shining with what she's certain is mischief.</p><p>She points at the display case, curious at its contents. He nods, swiping it upwards into his arms before almost gliding to show her the contents.</p><p>“Holsters,” he whispers, “I can't tell you how many wizards have broken their wands by stuffing them in their pockets.”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows. In their pockets? Then again, wizarding robes seem like they'd have much deeper pockets than denim jeans. It still seems unsafe to stick a piece of thin wood in a pocket and expect it not to snap.</p><p>The display case shows 10 different holsters of various colors and styles, though there's not too much variation in the binding and shape. Underneath each holster is a tag labeling the style. Ollivander must have a supply of each holster in different sizes like in a shoe store. The thought has her smiling. Despite the fact that she's looking at holsters for a magic <em>wand, </em>it's beginning to feel like muggle shopping. She's missed it.</p><p>Some of the holsters in the case have designs pressed into the leather, while others are smooth and shiny. A silver holster shines like real metal in the dim light, while a dull white one looks eerily like bone. Two are textured and bumpy but have no extra designs. Curling vines and flowers stamped on a mahogany holster catch her eye and, despite the dark black one with thick stitching standing out as well, she can't help but think that the mahogany is the prettiest. She points to it and Ollivander squints his eyes at her as if she's surprised him again but she isn't sure why. The mahogany one is clearly the prettiest, even considering the elegant but not quite fashionable silver holster.</p><p>“Ah, a fine choice Mr. Potter. Compliments your wand quite nicely too. Yes, yes, let me get one your size for you,” Ollivander mutters, walking to the back.</p><p>Hagrid, who'd been quite quiet during the visit, steps up beside her.</p><p>“Reckon that's a bloody good thing to get, Harry. Yeh'll need it. Don' know why it's not on the lis',” he says, “Good thing yeh thought've it. Woulda never came to my mind.”</p><p>“Yeah, it seems useful,” she says, continuing to look at the holsters as Ollivander rummages in the back, “I hope it's not too uncomfortable.”</p><p>Really, though, why <em>isn't </em>it on the list? There has to be at least one kid a year smashing a wand in their robes.</p><p>“I wouldn' worry about <em>that</em>. Ollivander's been in the business fer too long fer them to have uncomfortable holsters.”</p><p>She nods, “that's true.”</p><p>It's then that Ollivander reaches out to hand her the holster. She jumps, his arm – and subsequently himself – appearing out of thin air. Despite all his ruckus when sorting through the holsters, he's quite light on his feet.</p><p>“Ah, thanks,” she says, taking the holster into her hands. The leather is glossy and she dips her thumb into the large hydrangea on the surface. Sliding it on, Hagrid's right in that it does feel comfortable. A little strange – it will probably take some getting used to – but comfortable all the same.</p><p>“It looks great on yeh, Harry,” Hagrid says, smiling.</p><p>“Fits perfectly. Now, onto the maintenance,” Ollivander says pulling the box of cleaning supplies closer to him. He reaches in and grabs two bottles, his speed in pulling them out causing them to slam on the counter. How this man keeps sneaking up on her with such little subtlety she'll never know.</p><p>One of the bottles has squared edges and one is a standard but squat cylinder. He holds up the cylinder to the light, showing the thin greenish-brown concoction within.</p><p>“This is a wand cleaner and polisher in one. Brewed in house, you can't get this anywhere else,” he says, setting it down once more, “Clean your wand with it once a night with a soft rag – not too much, mind, but not too little either.”</p><p>Before she can ask how to tell what amount is too much and too little he picks up the next potion.</p><p>“Leathershine; you can get this anywhere, of course, but clean your holster with it once a month.”</p><p>He begins putting them in a box, wrapping them up in brown paper before she can say whether or not she wants them or not. It's not like she's going to say <em>no </em>but it's the principle of the matter. Then again, Ollivander's shown himself to be unconventional in every way. She's not sure why it keeps surprising her.</p><p>“That's all you need, nothing more, and no dusting your wand either!” he shouts, suddenly passionate, “It doesn't need any foul lemon cleanser anywhere near it!”</p><p>She nods, honestly glad he told her. She wouldn't be surprised if she had gone on to dust it without knowing not to if he hadn't said anything.</p><p>Finally, everything accounted for and more, she pays.</p><p>And they leave.</p><p>And she is,</p><p>
  <strike>happysadscaredtiredconfusedangrybitterjoyfulfrightenedexcited </strike>
</p><p>content.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I really didn't want the Diagon trip to turn into the whole 'savvy plot-convenient shopping' thing I see super frequently but also, Harry's favorite pastime was shopping and she's 28 altogether at this point, like, she's gonna go 'huh, where do I put this magical wooden stick.' I hope it didn't seem too unrealistic and/or like it was for convenience, but I specifically only elaborated on the things I thought she would actually be concerned about as someone who's been without her own clothes and without knowledge of a major part of herself for 11 years (referencing the last chapter as well). Anyway, I hope y'all are doing well! I was gonna update a few other things today, but yesterday was hectic so I wasn't able to edit them sadly :( </p><p>See you next week y'all! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Grasp Tightly to Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She doesn't get much sleep, but she does dream – dreams of green, dreams of soaring across rollercoaster tracks, dreams of the wind, the sky.</p><p>Dreams of magic.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Beep boop, more introspection from this introspective gal. Sappy as fuck chapter, but also sad, as per usual lolol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hagrid and her stop for hamburgers on the way back to the Dursleys. She doesn't want the day to end.</p><p>She lets the man talk about dragons and muggles and anything that comes to his mind and she listens, finding herself soothed by his chatter. She asks the occasional question, just to show she's listening – though she is rather curious – and Hagrid enthusiastically explains the answers. As he talks, time goes by slowly. She eats her fries at a snail's pace and lets the greasiness of the food wash over her.</p><p>Lets it remind her of home.</p><p>Too soon, Hagrid and her are saying goodbye.</p><p>“Yer ticket fer Hogwarts and yer cake,” he says, handing her an envelope on top of the cakebox. She'd almost forgotten about it.</p><p>“First o’ September – King’s Cross – it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me... See yeh soon, Harry.’</p><p>“Thank you, Hagrid,” she replies, unable to stop the well of affection bubbling in her chest. This man has offered his support – solidarity – and it's... she feels <em>safe. </em>For the first time in a very long time, she feels as though she can depend on someone.</p><p>“I'll miss you. I can't wait to get to Hogwarts. We can talk then, right?” she asks, feeling overwhelmingly scared of the chance that she won't be able to see him again.</p><p>“Of course, Harry,” he says, smiling kindly at Harry even as his eyes shine, “yeh'll always be able to talk to me.”</p><p> </p><p>The Dursleys avoid her as she drags her luggage case into the cupboard as well as the rest of her purchases. She spends the rest of the night packing the things she won't be using in the coming weeks to get them out of the way. She attaches the wand to her holster and sets it on the single shelf above her cot. She stares at it for a few minutes, stroking the wood and finding herself enamored.</p><p>It's comforting to hold; like a stuffed animal, inanimate but still with an edge of inexplicable life to it. She names it Sophie, memories of plush unicorns circling her head – dollar store comfort after one of her many breakups.</p><p>The owl that she's yet to name is the biggest worry. She doesn't have enough space for her in the cupboard but she doesn't have anywhere else she can put her without the risk of Dudley or her Aunt and Uncle killing her in the night. She hopes they wouldn't stoop so low, but she can't be too careful. She sets the cage on the end of her bed and curls up at the top. It's not comfortable, but she thinks she might be able to convince Petunia to let her move into Dudley's second bedroom. If not this summer, there's always the next. Though it makes the coming month even more of a pain than usual.</p><p>Physical, emotional, <em>and </em>mental.</p><p>She doesn't get much sleep, but she does dream – dreams of green, dreams of soaring across rollercoaster tracks, dreams of the wind, the sky.</p><p>Dreams of magic.</p><p> </p><p>Harry is cold and hungry and sore.</p><p>The Dursleys' avoidance of her becomes a theme, but she doesn't mind it much. She visits the library when she can to get out of the house, letting Beatrix – whom she named after Beatrix Potter, finding it both ironic and nostalgic – out of her cage to fly as much as possible. In her cage, there is not much room to stretch her wings. There's also the issue of her bringing dead mice into the cupboard. With little space, it is more than unsanitary; it is crowding.</p><p>Harry gets lost staring into the beady eyes of the dead rodents sometimes. Is she but a small hamster set in a wheel for some greater being's pleasure? Or is she a meal, waiting to be cold and dead before being served?</p><p>Is she a person or a plaything? A human or a fabrication?</p><p>Alive or dead?</p><p>(She doesn't know which she'd rather be, but Beatrix makes good company despite her 'presents'.)</p><p> </p><p>She and Hagrid exchange letters. She breathes in, draws figures in the corners of the parchment, exhales. Writes him that she's okay; alive, well, happy.</p><p>She feels like some part of her is actually being honest.</p><p>She feels alive for the first time in so long.</p><p>(Is she?)</p><p>Harry is used to running, her too big trainers slapping on the concrete as she escapes the fury of her own family. What she is not used to is finding a person or place that will let her hide away from her cousin and guardians. What she is not used to is peace – the stillness she has felt this past month.</p><p>She thinks Hagrid might be both.</p><p> </p><p>She walks alone to the Underground, lugging her baggage behind her. It is cumbersome, but it's better than asking for a ride from the Dursleys. Even if they would, she doesn't want any favors from them.</p><p>She mainly worries about Beatrix, who she told to fly ahead to Hogwarts for her. She knows Beatrix knows the way, but she frets all the same.</p><p>(There are two friends in her life she needs to take care of now. She hopes she can care for them better than she has cared for herself.)</p><p>She pays for the Underground with her own money, slipping past the concerned questions with ease. The best way to blend in is to hide in plain sight so she lets herself read, posture straight, and confident in the train car.</p><p>She feels free. Independent. <em>Adult.</em></p><p>She grips the railing, standing for a pregnant woman holding the hand of a young kid.</p><p>She stands tall, for once not feeling the short limits of her limbs – the thinness of her wrists.</p><p>She feels large – strong.</p><p>(Scared, but she is used to that.)</p><p> </p><p>King's Cross Station bustles with people. She is jostled back and forth as she makes her way through the crowd trying to find her platform. She hadn't thought much of it at first, but now that she's here she realizes that there are no platforms with '¾' in their title.</p><p>It's enough to be worrying, but she pushes the feeling down. She'll figure it out when she comes to it. She has 2 hours until the train leaves after all.</p><p>Other students – nonmagical ones she's assuming – line the tracks. Some are hugging their parents or escaping their affectionate gestures in equal measure. Something close to jealousy twists her gut and she looks away, dismissing even the groups of friends reuniting after a long summer apart.</p><p>When she died she was suddenly alone – her family was gone as if it never existed. Perhaps it never would.</p><p>It's as if they're the ones who died, not the other way around.</p><p>She thinks that perhaps she should have processed her grief by now.</p><p>She thinks that no one can process grief like hers.</p><p> </p><p>Is this some sort of sick joke? Is everything she's experienced entertainment for some kind of cruel deity?</p><p>There is nothing there. No platform 9 and 3/4's. No magical entrance to another world. No one to tell her where she should go.</p><p>There is nothing but column after column of impenetrable brick.</p><p>She sits on a bench in between platforms 9 and 10 and <em>stares. </em></p><p>Not a single person passes who seems magical. For a second she entertains the idea that maybe she'd dreamed up Diagon. That magic isn't real after all. That the wand strapped to her right wrist is just a child's fancy.</p><p>The thought is almost ridiculous considering how much evidence she has to the contrary.</p><p>She sighs and settles into the bench to wait. Maybe she's just too early. She doesn't take out her book this time, concerned she might miss something if she has her attention focused elsewhere.</p><p>She's not one to people watch. In her old life, she'd scrolled through her phone (dopamine boost for an ADHD brain). She was even hyper-fixated on Clash of Clans for a year – playing it through her friend's birthday party.</p><p>However, in this life, she's become accustomed to boredom. She's found her escapes in books – something she never would have thought possible in her old life. The only novels she'd ever entertained were romance ones; specifically the cheesy bodice rippers. Even then, she'd only read an average of one book a year.</p><p>In this life, despite her initial reticence, she's spent quite a lot of time at the library. She hadn't expected she would at first, but between reading and sitting in a cupboard with nothing but thoughts to fill up the time, she chose reading. Reading and drawing on spare paper, that is. Though, reading is more accessible considering the Dursleys aren't willing to damage library property but are more than willing to destroy Harry's poor attempts at illustrating.</p><p>A girl walks by, head held tall and hair poofing out behind her in curly frizzes. Harry's reminded of a girl from her old life whose hair was just as caramel brown and thick. A man and a woman trail slightly behind the girl, loving smiles on their face as they watch her walk purposefully forward. Clearly, they are her parents or some form of guardian to her.</p><p>Harry's eyes begin to drift away before noticing the girl plow straight towards a column rather than continue on the walkway. Maybe she's just getting out of the way so she can say goodbye to her parents, but for the moment it's the only deviation from the crowd's movements to observe.</p><p>The girl hugs her parents, saying what Harry assumes are goodbyes and assurances she can't hear from her distant seat. Just as she begins to feel strange for her prolonged staring, the girl picks up her luggage,</p><p>and walks through the column.</p><p>Harry blinks. Blinks again.</p><p>Magic. Right. Why didn't she think of that?</p><p>Harry follows the girl not even a minute later. She presses her hand to the brick first, watching it slip through up to her wrist. It doesn't feel any different – no tingle, no strange coolness or warmth – just her hand floating in the air even though she can't see it.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, she steps forward, her suitcase following behind her.</p><p>She opens her eyes to a nearly empty platform. Smoke billows from a deep scarlet train, collecting like fog in the air. She sees a few older students exchanging greetings and one family saying their goodbyes.</p><p>Heading towards the train, she doesn't see the girl she followed and thinks she must already be seated. Only a few of the seats are filled, but mostly the train is empty. Anyone who's come this early is still on the platform with their family – not quite ready to sit down or part from loved ones.</p><p>She heads to the front of the train – an instinct born from years with Ms.Campbell. She knows that the back of the train (or bus, really) is usually more sought after anyway.</p><p>So much for socializing; she's already isolating herself and she hasn't even gotten to school yet. She tries to tell herself she's just emotionally preparing for that: for when she <em>will</em> eventually socialize but the thought seems hollow even to herself.</p><p>She heaves her bags into the shelf above the seats in the compartment, settles down, and begins reading 'A Rose in Winter' for the fourth time that month.</p><p>She wants to see if she can finish it in a day – she only just started it on the train ride to King's Cross. It's a competition with herself that she's excited to have. She's not had much of a chance to indulge her competitive side in this life – being too far ahead of everyone in her class to be challenged academically and too much of a social outcast to be allowed to even try to match her athleticism to anyone else, much less outclass anyone.</p><p>Her foot taps rapidly against the ground. <em>The race is on,</em> she thinks, letting herself have fun in the privacy of her mind.</p><p>She's getting better, maybe.</p><p>(Smiles are easier, at least.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I swear I'll get to answering y'all's lovely comments soon, I'm planning to do some editing on other works tonight as well as responding to the stuff in my inbox so you'll probs get a response within the next 24 hrs! I appreciate all of you guys so much, I hope you're doing well and staying safe! &lt;3</p><p>Onwards to socialization and dialogue, whoo!! And you got a glimpse of you-know-who this chapter (not that you-know-who, the other you-know-who, lol)!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Tastes Like a Wish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” the girl from the platform says.</p><p>Up close, Harry can see the magic sparking in her hair like it's a conduit for electricity. It frizzes outwards from her head like a halo of brown and gold.</p><p>"No," she says, feeling quite awkward with the sudden interruption.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Sunday and Daylight Saving Time skip forward day, or whatever the heck you call it. Hope y'all didn't get too bad sleep since it's the weekend! </p><p>Now, onwards to train ride shenanigans!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A knock on the door jolts her. She's been absorbed in her reading, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the train both as people started arriving and as it began to move. She thinks they're about two hours into their journey. A woman had come by asking if she wanted anything to eat and she'd bought a chocolate frog and a pumpkin pasty but she's not opened either yet.</p><p>As she expected, no one besides the trolley lady has even passed by her compartment until now with it being the closest to the front – even beyond what's labeled 'The Prefects' Compartments'. People don't seem to notice it.</p><p>“Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?” a pale, dark-haired boy asks, cheeks red and eyes watery.</p><p>“No, sorry,” she says.</p><p>He lets out a cry, “I’ve lost him! He keeps getting away from me!”</p><p>“Don't worry, you'll find him,” she says, “do you need any help...?”</p><p>He shakes his head miserably, “no, it's fine. If you see him...”</p><p>She lets her chin dip in a nod, “I'll bring him right to you.”</p><p>He leaves, going back down the hallway and Harry sighs, wondering if she should've actually pushed to go with the boy rather than half-heartedly offering.</p><p>No use now.</p><p>She opens her book back up.</p><p>(Her compartment is starting to feel empty.)</p><p> </p><p>The door slides open once again – this time without a knock.</p><p>“Have you seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” the girl from the platform says.</p><p>Up close, Harry can see the magic sparking in her hair like it's a conduit for electricity. It frizzes outwards from her head like a halo of brown and gold.</p><p>“No,” she says, feeling quite awkward with the sudden interruption. She holds her book in her hands, still up in front of her face, and begins to set it down sheepishly as the girl stares at it.</p><p>“What are you <em>reading?</em>” she says, voice both curious and slightly horrified. Harry smiles, picking it back up.</p><p>“It's a romance. A cheesy one,” Harry answers, “it's good if you like that sort of thing.”</p><p>Mouth agape, the girl looks at Harry as if she's a terminally ill patient reacting cheerily to the news of her imminent demise.</p><p>“Why not just read a textbook?”</p><p>The question startles a laugh out of Harry, “I mean, with how interesting magic is I don't think I'd be bored or anything, but usually textbooks aren't read for fun.”</p><p>She looks slightly mollified by Harry's words though Harry doesn't know why.</p><p>“Magic is interesting, isn't it?” she says, plopping down into the seat in front of Harry. Neville shuffles awkwardly into the compartment, face pale and shoulders hunched, “I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice! Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way” – <em>important, </em>Harry knows inexplicably – “who are you?”</p><p>Harry takes in her intense demeanor and smiles. The girl is headstrong and eager and so like a younger version of her friend from before. She's excited and lets herself sit back to listen.</p><p>“Oh, I'm Harry Potter,” Harry hums, thumbing her wand with her left hand to feel its smooth wood.</p><p>“Are you really?” she asks, and Harry can't help but wince. She forgot she's famous <em>once again</em>, ah.</p><p>“I know all about you, of course – “ <em>no, you don't,</em> Harry thinks, only slightly scathing “ – I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in 'Modern Magical History' and 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' and 'Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century'.”</p><p>“Uh, cool,” she says, even though that doesn't feel very cool at all. She tries to remember the names of the books – it's good to know what others are saying about you – and fails to even remember the first.</p><p>“Did you not know?” Hermione asks, leaning forwards curiously, “I'd have found out everything I could if I was me.”</p><p>“Didn't know where to look,” Harry says sheepishly, “it'd be cool to read them though, what were their names?”</p><p>“Oh!” she says, scrambling to pull out a notebook from her robes – the school ones, Harry notices, “I'll just write them here...”</p><p>She furiously scribbles down a few lines in muggle pen. A thunderous rip fills the air as she tears the paper from its place.</p><p>“Here! I added a few books for supplemental research you should look into as well!”</p><p>Harry smiles, “Thanks.”</p><p>For once she thinks she might <em>actually</em> be interested in reading textbooks for fun. It's probably different when those textbooks are about <em>magic, </em>though.</p><p>Hermione nods, the excessive force behind the action causing her hair to bob up and down like a bouncing ball on top of her head.</p><p>“You're welcome,” she rushes out, words almost mixing together with their speed, “Do you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad... Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. Don't forget to change before we get there.”</p><p>Before Harry can respond to her questions about the houses, Hermione leaves. She can't help but feel disappointed. She'd have liked to listen to her more if only to distract herself from the hollowness of her chest – the empty feeling lingering like fog in the compartment.</p><p> </p><p>She changes into her robes, not knowing why she didn't sooner. The robes feel like a dress as she guessed they would.</p><p>In the safety of her compartment, she twirls in it. The heavy fabric has a hard time splaying outwards, but it still ripples with the movement.</p><p>For the first time in a while, she lets herself cry – a mixture of elation, grief, and fear all cocktailing dangerously with adrenaline. She feels free and trapped all at once. She doesn't know which one is better.</p><p>(She is a witch, she is a wizard, she is <strike>Kenzie</strike> Harry Potter.</p><p>She is alive.)</p><p> </p><p>Hermione comes back in a flurry of noise and movement – Neville following at her heels like a terrified puppy. Harry finds herself smiling at the intrusion this time, closing her almost finished book and setting it down on her lap.</p><p>“UGH! BOYS!,” she shouts, throwing her hands up in aggravation. At the concerned looks from Harry and Neville she elaborates, “Not you, it's just – ergh! A group of boys were fighting in the back of the train, one of them was bleeding; all of it about who would get to be friends with <em>you!”</em></p><p>She doesn't say it accusingly, but Harry cringes all the same. It's not a pleasant bit of news.</p><p>“Really? That's...,” <em>unsettling, </em>her brain whispers for her, though she doesn't say anything more aloud – letting her words hang open-ended in the air.</p><p>Neville already seems to know what's going on – he was probably there – and he grimaces, “I- uh, it was probably more than that.”</p><p>Harry and Hermione shoot him curious glances and his shoulders rise up at the attention, “Malfoys and Weasleys, they have a... family feud, I guess you could call it. Goes back centuries.”</p><p>“Really? That would explain it...” Hermione trails off ponderingly, “But it still doesn't excuse the fighting. They should know better, school hasn't even started yet!”</p><p>Seeming sufficiently appeased of her rage for the moment, Hermione sits down once more.</p><p>“Oh, you changed! That's good, we're going to be there soon,” she says, though Harry thinks 'soon' is a bit of an overstatement. She guesses they have two hours left in the ride. “We probably won't find Trevor – Neville's toad – anytime soon, do you mind if we sit here?”</p><p>She pulls Neville into the seat beside her at Harry's nod.</p><p>“Have you read all the course books yet? Which one's your favorite? I just can't pick, they're all so interesting. Though I still feel behind on Magical Theory – I hope my extra research will be enough but I worry I won't match up to everyone else who's been raised with magic.”</p><p>Not knowing which portion of Hermione's words to address first, she answers her questions – remembering Hermione's past track record with letting Harry answer, “I read all of them – my favorite was probably the potions book or the one about the plants. Those were cool, but really all of them were. Cool, but weird. And I'm sure you'll be fine. I don't know anything either, we can catch up to the others together if you want. You're good at finding the books for it. ”</p><p>Hermione beams. “Really? Oh yes, we could study together and everything! Neville can help teach us the things we don't know if we can't find them ourselves. He was raised in a wizarding family, after all. Though that reminds me, why don't <em>you </em>know anything? I read you were raised by muggles but surely they told you some things. I can't imagine they'd leave <em>you,</em> of all people, uneducated.”</p><p>“Well, they did,” Harry says, suddenly bitter. It surprises her. She hadn't thought she was angry at the lack of transparency and education in her life, but it hits her now. Not only is she in the body of a child orphaned too young to even remember her parents – she is the wizarding world's 'savior' but she knows nothing about the world she's meant to protect. All she knows is what she's taught herself.</p><p>(It is not enough.)</p><p>She is not only lacking in support, she is lacking in even the barest amounts of awareness of her surroundings. Ignorance is bliss, but it is also dangerous.</p><p>So, so dangerous.</p><p>Hermione doesn't notice her tone, thankfully enough, but her face turns down in a frown all the same; she seems to be puzzled as to <em>why </em>Harry Potter would be left in the dark. Harry wants to give her an answer, but she doesn't know what to say – doesn't know the answer either.</p><p>“How is it, uh, living with muggles?” Neville asks, piping up to break the awkward silence.</p><p>“Oh, not so strange,” Hermione says, “it's normal, really, though I suppose you might be confused. Instead of magic, we have technology. It runs cars, computers, and other things for us. We even have mobile communication devices. Though I read that muggle technology doesn't mix well with magic.”</p><p>“We've been to the moon, too,” Harry comments idly, realizing both her and Hermione have been referring to themselves as muggles. It's strange to think she's not. Despite her having seen for herself the magic running through her veins, she isn't able to reconcile that with her own image of who she is. A whole lifetime of preparation and she still can hardly believe magic <em>exists,</em> much less that she has it.</p><p>“You've <em>what?</em>”</p><p>Hermione tilts her head, brows furrowed, “you haven't?”</p><p>“No! How can you even <em>do </em>that?! That's- that's impossible! There's no way anyone can apparate that far and – no one's even thought to try!”</p><p>Harry laughs a little, surprised that such a casual piece of information is so astonishing. Muggles and wizards must be divided culturally more than she thought.</p><p>“You haven't even tried?” Hermione asks, aghast, “Why ever not?”</p><p>“Why would we? It's the <em>moon?</em>”</p><p>“The moon, which happens to be the closest natural satellite to our planet, and you haven't even <em>tried </em>to reach it?”</p><p>“Of course not!”</p><p>Harry giggles louder this time, jolting Neville and Hermione from their yelling.</p><p>“So I guess we know who's more advanced.”</p><p>This time, they all snicker, recognizing her words for the joke it is.</p><p>As they begin to settle down, she opens her chocolate frog; jumping in surprise as it hops away from her.</p><p>“Uh, Neville, I think you're not the only one who's got a missing toad now.”</p><p>“A frog's not a toad though,” Hermione pipes in as Neville stutters and blushes an unsure agreement.</p><p>“They're close enough,” Harry says, looking back to the card in her hand, “that's such a weird way of making candy. It's just wasteful.”</p><p>“Well, maybe it's not if you know what you're doing,” Hermione says and Harry raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“I don't know what I'm doing,” she laughs, “Do you?”</p><p>Hermione flushes, “No, but I'm sure I'll remember if I ever try one in the future.”</p><p>“That's true,” Harry mumbles, reading the card labeled 'Morgana'. A beautiful black-haired woman stares coldly out of the frame. She tries to smile at Harry, though it looks more like a grimace.</p><p>“Do they all have cards like this?” Harry asks Neville.</p><p>“No. Well, they all have cards, but not all of them are the same. My gran doesn't like me collecting them but I do have a few. Morgana's a pretty common one.”</p><p>Harry looks back to her card, noticing the woman's sudden absence from the portrait. She doesn't think much of it. Instead, she opens her pumpkin pasty cautiously – she doesn't want to lose this one. After all, it's the only sweet she has left.</p><p>It tastes like pumpkin pie.</p><p>She remembers her sister's pumpkin pie. The pasty is not as good. It has too much dough and it dries her mouth as she chews it.</p><p>It's hard to swallow; goes down like a lump in her throat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The beginnings of socialization for this people-deprived main character. Dialogue is now going to increase majorly from this point on, which has been super fun to write. It's actually usually harder for me to work with pre-existing characters because I struggle with keeping them in character, but I feel like I've got the characters I've been working with down as much as I need to, which has been good for writing dialogue faster. This is very much a 'go with what flows' story, which makes it really fun to write. I'm trying not to take it <em>too</em> seriously.</p><p>Anyway, hope y'all are doing well!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Freedom to Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Most people are stupid. You’re just one of the rare few who can think for themselves.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>God, I'm in a very rambly mood today, Idk if you need all the info in the end notes, so definitely don't think they're necessary or anything. I'm pretty sure they're just more in-depth stuff that's already addressed in the chapter but my brain's beginning to hurt so I'm just gonna leave it as is and hope for the best. Anywayyyy, I love my cat and he deserves the world, thank you for your time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s something that Avery once told her that stuck with her even in this life. She said it in passing, but it had been surprising and almost encouraging for Kenzie to hear.</p><p>“You’re the most passively independent person I know,” Avery had said in astonishment after watching the openly homophobic video her grandpa showed Harry every year as a way to ‘fight the gay agenda’.</p><p>Kenzie had asked why, and Avery had ranted to her about how she had so easily and casually thrown off the prejudices of the environment she was raised in and the media she was shown and did it without even batting an eye.</p><p>Harry had responded then with, “well, it’s all just stupid isn’t it?”</p><p>Avery had smiled and said, “yeah, but most people are stupid. You’re just one of the rare few who can think for themselves.”</p><p>Harry hadn’t told her then, but that had made her (averagely intelligent and mediocre her) light up with pride.</p><p>Harry sort of wishes she’d said something.</p><p>She has so many regrets she feels like she might be crushed by them.</p><p> </p><p>The door slides open once again, and Harry sighs from being interrupted from the last chapter of her book. Hermione and Neville left only minutes before, wanting to get back to their bags before they got to Hogwarts.</p><p>She looks up over the top of the pages, eyes peering questioningly at the intruder. Or well, <em>intruders.</em> 3 boys stand in front of her. The one with slick blonde hair seems the obvious leader, the other 2 behind him look like bodyguards with children's faces. She finds herself amused.</p><p>“What is that?” the blonde boy asks, pointed nose scrunched in exaggerated disgust as he glares at her book.</p><p>“A book,” she replies, setting it down and keeping her place on her knee.</p><p>He rolls his eyes, “Well I know <em>that,</em> what I mean is why <em>you </em>would read a book like <em>that.</em>”</p><p>At that, her shoulders tug upwards in a shrug and she smiles down at the very attractive man on the cover.</p><p>“It’s good,” she replies.</p><p>“Sure,” he answers, sarcasm dripping from his words. He’s rude and frustrates her for reasons she doesn’t really understand. It’s not like she dislikes kids, but the way he's talking is childish in a way that's unusually infuriating.</p><p>She sighs heavier this time.</p><p>“I've been looking for Harry Potter,” the boy says, eyes staring at her piercingly, “I assume that's <em>you</em>, considering I've scoured this train the whole day and haven't found him. Though I thought you'd have better... taste.”</p><p>Her eyebrows raise so high she can feel them crinkle her forehead. Her mouth gapes the slightest bit. She's not sure why she's so surprised, she had a younger brother once after all, but this boy is so <em>dramatic.</em> It's a book, for goodness sake. Hermione was similarly dramatic, but then it was more humorous. Perhaps Harry has a double standard, but this feels more like a dig at her character than before. There is something discriminatory in it, though she can't place what.</p><p>“Yeah, I'm Harry. That's me. And, as I said, it's good,” she says, picking it back up in a clear sign of <em>go away.</em></p><p>The boy does not, in fact, go away.</p><p>“My name's Draco Malfoy,” he says instead, and oh, she knows that name's significant, though she doesn't know why, “And this is Crabbe and Goyle.”</p><p>Those are odd names. Who named these people?</p><p>“Uh, nice to meet you?”</p><p>It's then that a redheaded boy comes barreling into the compartment, causing the others to stumble as he rams his shoulder into them to pass.</p><p>“Don't listen to a word this git says, Potter! He's a Death Eater!”</p><p>“That's preposterous, Weasley, the war was before I could walk!”</p><p>“Yeah, well, what about your father then,” the boy, Weasley, snarls and Malfoy bristles.</p><p>“My father was under a <em>powerful dark curse</em> –“</p><p>“Sure,” Weasley interrupts sarcastically, “and he just so <em>happened </em>to –“</p><p>She nods along, raises her eyebrows, then ignores every word they say.</p><p>It's not like it's anything important. After such an entrance, she can't find herself intrigued by Malfoy at all. Anyway, she's already getting bad vibes from him – the Dudley kind of bad vibes. It's not like she doesn't think he'll grow or that he's inherently <em>bad,</em> just that, well, she hadn't ever planned to work with children for a reason. Teaching them how to be people is <em>exhausting </em>and, though she cares about their well-being, she certainly doesn't have the energy or tact for much more.</p><p>And the other boy, well, with the dried blood under his nose she's assuming he was the one involved in the fight earlier. She's assuming all of them are, really, and it's just, slightly, somewhat, very extremely uncomfortable.</p><p>Just somewhat.</p><p>That's probably what they're here for in the first place: to make friends with her because she's Harry Potter. She can't blame them – they're kids and she's gathering that she's quite a celebrity – but it's still not why she wants people to become friends with her.</p><p>She looks out the window and tries to drown out the shouting. It's dark out, the remnants of sunset disappearing under the pitch black of night. They must be almost there.</p><p>A pity since she only has one more chapter left in her book. Well, she could always continue reading it now...</p><p>Honestly, even if it's rude, she's sure it's not as rude as what they're doing.</p><p>Right as she decides that she should try to continue reading despite their disruption, a hand enters her field of vision.</p><p>Malfoy looks at her expectantly, and she looks around the room to gauge the mood. It seems that everyone's calmed down a little, though Weasley is sulking behind Malfoy. She's glad it didn't turn physical or she might have had to step in.</p><p>Ugh, pre-teen boys are the worst kind of menace.</p><p>“Sure,” she says to Malfoy, taking his hand with a roll of her eyes. Somehow, nobody looks pleased.</p><p>As long as they're not hurt she's happy.</p><p>(<em>'</em><strike><em>You're the most passively independent person I know.'</em></strike>)</p><p>She opens her book back up and dutifully ignores the boys' staring at the bare-chested man on the front cover.</p><p>(She's lonely, but is that really a pressing issue when her stomach is hollow with hunger and her skin stretches thin and bruised against her bones?)</p><p>So much for making friends. She's already started isolating herself and spurning her year mates, how lovely.</p><p><em>There's always Hermione and Neville</em>, she thinks to herself, but then...they don't even know if they'll be in the same house and classes, do they?</p><p>She's not even sure what house she'll be in. She's certain she's supposed to know.</p><p>But she doesn't.</p><p>(Why her? She's not meant for this. She doesn't have the knowledge or the wits or the passion for this. She's boring and average. She's not a hero or a savior or anything Harry Potter is supposed to be. She's not made to be the protagonist.</p><p>So why her?)</p><p> </p><p>“We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately,” a voice rings out through the train.</p><p>She's starting to like magic, she thinks as she leaves the train with nothing but her wand on her wrist and her book in her large robe pockets. Especially the large pockets bit, considering muggle women's clothes... well, not the best for pocket space.</p><p>She makes her way to the platform faster than most everyone else, There's a door beside her compartment that she exits through, whilst most head towards the exit at the center of the train.</p><p>It's cold out, and she draws her hands into the long sleeves of her robes as she stares up at the night sky. The stars twinkle, <em>made it to the moon indeed, </em>and she thinks she can feel the magic in the air. At this point, she's not sure if she's making the electric feeling up or not or if it's just the excitement of it all.</p><p>After a large body of students begin to cluster on the platform, Hagrid appears, gripping a lantern that swings above the crowd. He holds it with ease above the students; Harry smiles at the sight.</p><p>“Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here! All right there, Harry?”</p><p>Harry blushes at the man's callout, feeling a few curious eyes on her as she nods assent to Hagrid from afar. He grins, face as open and revealing as always. Her giddiness grows as she watches the excitement on his face.</p><p>She doesn't just feel free, she thinks, she <em>is </em>free. Free from the Dursleys, free to make new relationships on her own terms for the first time in eleven years.</p><p>She's free to make her own destiny through this storybook turned afterlife.</p><p>“C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!”</p><p>They follow him single file through a path cutting through the trees. It's silent and she lets herself feel safe in the darkness of the trees. The lantern leads them like a willow o' the-wisp, a flickering orb of brightness and warmth.</p><p>“Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec. Jus’ round this bend here.”</p><p>Only a moment later, the group stumbles into a clearing at the edge of a lake. Reflected on its surface are the lights of the moon, the stars, and the magnificent castle sitting on the other side of the shore.</p><p>Her breath catches in her throat.</p><p>Suddenly, Hermione is at her side, grabbing Harry's arm as if for support as she stares in awe at the castle.</p><p>“It's incredible, isn't it?” she whispers, “it's been around so long...”</p><p>Harry nods, unable to respond as she swallows around the swell of emotions in her chest.</p><p>
  <em>This is so much better than the Dursleys.</em>
</p><p>“No more'n four to a boat!” Hagrid yells. Hermione perks up, breaking out of her trance and standing on her tiptoes to search the crowd.</p><p>“Oh, where's Neville,” she mutters under her breath, teetering from side to side as she tries to make herself taller. Harry spots the boy first, standing near a group of four girls and looking around frantically for people to join.</p><p>Elbowing Hermione gently in the side to get her attention, she nods in Neville's direction.</p><p>“Looks like he's looking for us too.”</p><p>Hermione takes off, grabbing Harry's hand and practically dragging her to Neville.</p><p>“There you are! Now we just need one more person,” she says.</p><p>“We can always just see who's last to be picked,” Harry says with a slight wince. That's never a fun feeling, but it's better than trying to stumble their way through the dark. Besides, she doesn't like the idea that others might begin to clamor over her like... let's just say she'd rather avoid Weasley and Malfoy and anyone like them.</p><p>Surprisingly, Hermione acquiesces, walking them over to a boat and getting in. Harry and Neville follow after quickly in an attempt to not be split apart by the already chaotic clamor of social hierarchies forming and falling. Maybe Harry <em>is</em> set for friendship, after all. She's made do with friends in other classes before, and for children, Hermione and Neville don't seem <em>too</em> bad.</p><p>If it happens, it happens. She thinks that she should live by that philosophy.</p><p>As the other first-years begin to settle into their boats, a boy walks up to their boat with a barely noticeable slump to his shoulders. At least he noticed his dwindling luck before <em>everyone</em> was in the boats. It's less embarrassing that way.</p><p>“Can I sit with you?” he asks, “I can't seem to find any place that's empty.</p><p>“Sure,” Harry replies, “we don't mind.”</p><p>Hermione and Neville shake their heads to signify agreement to her statement.</p><p>“Everyone in?” Hagrid asks right as the boy steps in, checking the shore as he steps into his own boat, “Right then – FORWARD!”</p><p>The boats begin to move, coasting along the surface of the lake slowly. She leans back to look up at the stars, letting a finger trail alongside her in the water.</p><p>“I'm Terry Boot,” the boy says, breaking the silence as he shifts in his seat on the left side back corner, “and you are...?”</p><p>“Hermione Granger, pleasure to meet you,” Hermione sticks out her hand, posture straighter than a board. She looks as if she's a wire poised to snap with her tense muscles coiled in anticipation for what Harry's sure has to be an intense handshake based on Boot's facial expression.</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” Terry echoes, turning to Neville to shake his hand next. Neville swipes his hand on his robes, before meeting the boy's hand with his own.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, I'm Neville. Er, Neville Longbottom,” he tacks on awkwardly.</p><p>Another strange name.</p><p>“Harry Potter, nice to meet you.”</p><p>Boot pauses at that, tilting his head and stopping in the midst of shaking Harry's hand.</p><p>“Are you really? Huh, interesting.”</p><p>“Yeah,” she clears her throat, looking away as she peels her hand gingerly from Terry's, “that's me.”</p><p>It still feels weird to accept that name, but she supposes it's true enough.</p><p>“I'm on a boat with Harry Potter,” the boy whispers under his breath, letting his face fall slack as she turns away, “pinch me.”</p><p>No one does.</p><p>Terry's quick enough to compose himself, though, which she appreciates. The boat is silent barring Hermione's awed infodump on the castle's history as they travel towards the imposing structure in the distance. Harry lets her hand fall to the side of the boat again, watching the reflection of stars ripple on the water's surface, Hermione's voice a soothing lull in the background.</p><p>“HEADS DOWN!” Hagrid yells as they approach a large wall of ivy in the cliff face under Hogwarts. She curls forward, her eyes straining upward as they pass under the plants to see the transition from sky to cave walls.</p><p>They stop at an underground harbor. The boats glide smoothly into the dirt and rocks of the shore despite her expectance of a jolt. She clambers out, reaching a hand out to help a stumbling Neville.</p><p>“Wow,” she whispers under her breath.</p><p>“Oi, you there! Is this your toad?” Hagrid asks, walking back up to Neville, toad outstretched in his giant palm.</p><p>“Trevor!” he shouts in response, taking the frog reverently from Hagrid.</p><p>Hagrid smiles at the response, turning to smile at Harry as well before leading them up a stone pathway. It opens into a grassy lawn, a large wooden door into the castle waiting at the end. It stands, foreboding, like a giant maw gaping in Hogwart's side waiting to devour them.</p><p>Or perhaps she's being dramatic.</p><p>“Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?”</p><p>Harry smiles at Hagrid's consideration as he knocks on the great doors. They open immediately at his insistence, revealing the pinched face of an older woman in deep green robes. Hagrid reveals her name to be Professor McGonagall. The woman turns her face to the crowd, eyes piercing like a crow as she examines the students. Harry feels like she's a specimen under a microscope. The eyes pass over her, pause, and move on.</p><p>She releases a breath she didn't even know she was holding.</p><p>“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here,” she says, inclining her head to the man.</p><p>“Well, follow me,” McGonagall says, turning on her heel to lead them into the castle. Stepping onto the first bit of stone sends a thrill up Harry's spine. Her tongue feels heavy and her hair feels like someone rubbed a balloon all over it.</p><p>It's both a disorienting and pleasant feeling.</p><p>Torches line either side of the hall, sending dark silhouettes across the walls as they walk. It looks like a grotesque shadow puppet play, with creatures shuddering their way through the main plot – the protagonist a turbulent blob of darkness.</p><p>She wonders if that's some sort of sick metaphor for herself. Some subconscious part of her finds the comparison uncanny.</p><p>The high ceiling makes their footsteps echo on the tiles as they walk. She feels like she's on a tour in an old castle rather than in a school. They pass two high doors, a loud clamoring of voices coming from behind, before continuing into a large, bare room.</p><p>“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall starts, turning towards them with the slightest swish to her robes, “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.”</p><p>That sounds... pretty cool, honestly. She's already heard and read about the houses, of course, but it's still interesting from someone whose school career consisted of a small, private education with the only camaraderie being found within sports teams.</p><p>“The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”</p><p>The thought of games within a school setting reminds her of Kahoot and she smiles. That's certainly a good way to make her try harder, at least.</p><p>“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”</p><p>A ceremony? Hmm, that sounds interesting. She's not keen on it being public, but well, she also wonders what the ceremony would be. It's probably alphabetical, though with how magic and the subsequent society works...</p><p>She suddenly thinks she probably doesn't want to know. Which is a conundrum when she's going to have to face the issue in just a few minutes from now.</p><p>She sighs – she thinks she's been doing a lot of that lately.</p><p>“I shall return when we are ready for you,” McGonagall says, gazing out into the sea of faces in front of her, eyes lingering on Neville's robe – hooked under his ear – and someone else Harry can't spot in the crowd, “Please wait quietly.”</p><p>She turns away, posture stiff and unyielding as she exits the room. Harry turns to Neville and fixes his robe, trying to ignore her own nervousness.</p><p>“Thanks,” he murmurs, looking sick. She hopes she's hiding her fears better than he is.</p><p>“It's fine.”</p><p>Screams, sharp and piercing, ring through the air so suddenly she jumps. Her hands grip the edge of her sleeves as she whirls around trying to find the threat.</p><p>Ghosts.</p><p>Her breath catches in her throat as a crowd of incorporeal figures float into the room like clouds of smoke. Except – these are real people.</p><p>Who once were alive, but died – like her.</p><p>She's always wanted to meet a ghost but now, with so many in front of her, she thinks she might puke.</p><p>(Would she have rather been a ghost than entered this strange in-between of alive and dead? It seems so much simpler, but then, she still gets to touch and feel and taste and smell and –</p><p>Despite all that, she can't help the swirl of jealousy in her gut.)</p><p>One of the ghosts, who looks like he might be a monk, is in the middle of saying something. She tunes in right as he says, “We ought to give him a second chance –“</p><p>Another ghost cuts him off, wearing what appears to be medieval clothing fit for a noble, “My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?”</p><p>He cuts himself off this time, staring expectantly at the crowd. She shifts awkwardly, feeling as though the encounter is slightly staged, because surely they would have noticed them by now – or at least known they would have been here.</p><p>Then again, maybe you lose track of time when you're dead.</p><p>(She certainly has.)</p><p>When nothing but quiet meets the ghost's question, the other one – a friar apparently – shouts, “New students!” He grins at them, seeming delighted at the prospect. A friendly ghost, then. Which makes her think of Casper the ghost and <em>no</em>, she's not going to spiral down into her first childhood's memories during the welcoming ceremony.</p><p>“About to be sorted, I suppose?” he asks, and she's grateful for the distraction, nodding reflexively in response.</p><p>“Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house you know.”</p><p>McGonagall returns, shooing off the ghost with one, “move along now,” and Harry can't blame the ghosts when they quickly make their leave. McGonagall seems like an intimidating woman.</p><p>“The Sorting Ceremony's about to start,” the Professor says, “Now, form a line and follow me.”</p><p>No one questions her, following behind her quickly and with an air of urgency and stress so heavy that Harry thinks she might drown in it. She can taste it, even, lingering on her tongue like the bitter aftertaste of a lemon or something just as sour.</p><p>Everything in her burns with it, citrus and sharp. It's overwhelming.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, this is <em>not</em> a bashing fic. Harry doesn't necessarily like kids a lot (basically just has no interest to interact, neither likes nor dislikes) but she's willing to make friends in this world. She does not dislike Ron or Draco because they're 'evil' or cuz I dislike them (cuz I really don't dislike them at all, I love them as characters honestly) but I can't imagine most people with her level of maturity would enjoy 11-year-old Ron Weasley's or Draco's company unless they genuinely enjoy being around kids/helping guide the 'next generation' and all that. She might have seemed to dismiss Draco and Ron pretty fast, but her first impression of them was them fighting for her attention. That would seem exhausting to her and not something she'd want to deal with. She was receptive to meeting other kids her 'age' so if anyone else had come in or not been so weird about it she'd probably be just as open to making friends with them as she was with Hermione and Neville. </p><p>Also, about the Draco-Dudley thing: as much as I love Draco as a character, 1st year Harry in the books did compare him to Dudley for a reason. This Harry is going to see that part of him too, but mainly because of how he reacted to her book. She picks up on him being discriminatory because of Draco’s tone because he knows it’s a muggle book. He’s not just commenting on it being a ‘girls’ book, it’s clearly not magical as well and that’s aiding what he’s saying. She's not exactly <em>sure</em> what he's referring to, but she knows something's up with what he's saying and it sounds like Dudley in the sense that Dudley also looks down on others...</p><p>ANYWAY, basically, she's just really uncomfortable being 'the chosen one' to people and anyone who has expectations for her (she humored Hermione but even then she got annoyed during those parts of the conversation). So yeah, she'll give people a chance but she'd already dismissed Draco and Ron because of the fight and also because Draco's first attempt at communication was insulting her. Also, Hermione reminds her of her old friend so she gives her more leeway, but even then I still feel like it makes sense that she'd be more friendly with Hermione and Neville over Draco and Ron as she'll rlly vibe w/ passionate and/or socially awkward people. And now I'm rambling, sorry, lolol.</p><p>I'm trying to dig into Harry's insecurities too, and what her <em>values</em> are (because I base houses on values) so I wonder if y'all can guess her house cuz I've been leaving so many breadcrumbs (though I've realized that I'm probably rlly bad at foreshadowing, lol). Either way, I hope you're not disappointed and possibly like it? It's not the house I planned on originally, but it rlly does work best for her after lots of thought (and so many house tests from her perspective as best I can).</p><p>Also, want to add that my friend, without any media or information to the contrary, literally came to the conclusion at age 14 that homophobia, sexism, racism (everything she was actively taught) was stupid. Her parents are really conservative (her mom is especially bigoted though) and none (and I mean <em>none</em>) of the media she was exposed to or the people she went to school with/her teachers did anything but reinforce bigoted viewpoints. So it may seem simple to just ‘be a good person’ and such, but she threw off a ridiculous amount of prejudice without even having to do any research — she just went ‘uh, yeah that’s stupid’ and never believed it before she saw anyone else do that. None of her friends at the time had any opinion to the contrary and neither did any of her teachers or the media she watched or engaged in. That’s literally so impressive. With no countering opinions, she came to her own conclusions even as a child and I find that to be so awesome, cuz like, children literally just follow what adults tell them and she <em>didn’t</em>. Like, she wasn't exposed to people who thought anything different until about 2 years after she came to her own conclusions I'm pretty sure? Well, technically she met me before then, but I never talked to her about that stuff and she never saw me yell at teachers about it because we were in different classes, lol. And idk about anyone else but who she is at her core, how genuinely awesome she is, just makes me really happy. In a lot of ways, she's more mature than I'll ever be. She cuts through bullshit super quick and I just really admire that about her. Idk if you've got to see it much, but never think that it's a plot device that she's thinking something's stupid, etc. cuz that's just who she is. She's good at telling truth from lies. Anyway, I just think she's great and I hope that translates to this OC inspired by her, lol. This OC is definitely not super accurate to my friend or anything (mainly backstory and inner thoughts differ greatly), but I do try to keep some core things similar.</p><p>Now I'm gonna go attempt to clean a lake, wish me luck!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. What Was and What Will Be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Applause meets the end of the hat's song, but Harry finds the ringing in her ears to be louder than the cheering and clapping of the student body.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>'There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see' </em></p><p> </p><p>That feeling of wanting to puke grows just a bit stronger.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Longest chapter yet, I think? I've only started counting words since chapter 5 or 6. Anyway, here's the sorting chapter... scream at me in the comments, but maybe not too violently lol</p><p>Also, I really hope I don't annoy you all with my long author's notes but know that I never hold anyone to the expectation of reading them. I'll bold and mark things as important with exclamation marks if they're something that I think you genuinely need to know so if you're feeling pressure to read them for plot necessary info or something, don't. I'm literally just rambling. If you do like learning more of my thought processes on why/how I choose to do things though, then go ahead!! :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Walking into the great hall makes her breath stutter in her chest. Stars shine up above, the dark night sky composing the ceiling in awe-inspiring realism. Floating candles add to the twinkling lights creating a magical atmosphere both literally and figuratively. It looks like someone cut a hole through the roof, but Hermione behind her dissuades those thoughts, saying, “It’s bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.”</p><p>Harry hardly processes the words, too enthralled by the beauty of the expansive chamber. Four long tables fill the room, the other students already seated and peering at them curiously. At the end of the hall, the floor raises, holding a horizontal table where teachers already sit and watch them imperiously. Or, what looks like imperiously from so far away – though she suspects it's just the nerves skewing her perception.</p><p>They walk towards the front of the room, stopping right before the teachers and turning to face the other students. McGonagall sets down a squat, four-legged stool. For some reason, Harry finds herself imagining a young Hagrid sitting there and wonders if it was too small for him even as a first-year. She can't imagine the man as anything but tall, able to hold the world within his hands.</p><p>A grimy, pointed hat is placed on the stool next, and Harry leans in a little to see better. Does this have to do with the sorting?</p><p>Suddenly, a crack appears on the hat's surface, something like a mouth forming in its' fabric. It's unsettling.</p><p>And that's before the hat begins to <em>sing:</em></p><p>“<em>Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,</em></p><p>
  <em> But don’t judge on what you see,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll eat myself if you can find</em>
</p><p>
  <em> A smarter hat than me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You can keep your bowlers black,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Your top hats sleek and tall,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And I can cap them all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> There’s nothing hidden in your head</em>
</p><p>
  <em> The Sorting Hat can’t see,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> So try me on and I will tell you</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where you ought to be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You might belong in Gryffindor,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where dwell the brave at heart,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Their daring, nerve and chivalry</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Set Gryffindors apart;</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You might belong in Hufflepuff</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where they are just and loyal,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Those patient Hufflepuffs are true</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And unafraid of toil;</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> If you’ve a ready mind,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Where those of wit and learning,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Will always find their kind;</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Or perhaps in Slytherin</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’ll make your real friends,</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Those cunning folk use any means</em>
</p><p>
  <em> To achieve their ends.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> So put me on! Don’t be afraid!</em>
</p><p>
  <em> And don’t get in a flap!</em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re in safe hands (though I have none)</em>
</p><p>
  <em> For I’m a Thinking Cap!”</em>
</p><p>Applause meets the end of the hat's song, but Harry finds the ringing in her ears to be louder than the cheering and clapping of the student body.</p><p>
  <em>'There's nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can't see'</em>
</p><p>That feeling of wanting to puke grows just a bit stronger.</p><p>“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” McGonagall says, unrolling a scroll of parchment, “Abbott, Hannah!”</p><p>Harry tunes out the sorting of her fellow first-years – a distant part of her hoping other students will do the same for her – and tries to think of what she'll do if everyone finds out that she's not <em>really</em> Harry Potter. She doesn't even mind that getting out, necessarily, it's just, she's supposed to be someone <em>different. </em>They could put her in jail or the hospital, finding her mad or even violent just for assumptions they might make because of her circumstances.</p><p>How could she deal with the fallout of such a discovery? She doesn't have power or connections, at least not ones that she trusts. Maybe Hagrid could help, but even he can't use his wand.</p><p>She'll just have to go along with whatever they decide. It's not like struggling would make it better, especially if it achieves nothing in the end.</p><p>Or maybe, the hat won't say anything at all and instead refuse to sort the altogether <em>28-year-old</em> trying to masquerade as a child.</p><p>She fidgets, watching idly as Hermione and Neville step out from beside her to the stool. Going, she thinks, in the same direction, but <em>where </em>that is she doesn't know.</p><p>The ringing in her ears grows stronger. Through the buzzing, a name reaches her.</p><p>“Potter, Harry.”</p><p>She steps forward, feeling countless eyes upon her small – too small – form. Whispers slice through the fog in her head, and she tries to stand straight as she walks to the stool.</p><p>The hat is sat upon her head torturously slowly. She finds herself almost relieved when it touches.</p><p>“Ah, aren't you a curious one,” the hat murmurs, voice raspy like it's speaking through a layer of dust.</p><p>Harry tenses at the words, feeling unspeakably violated. A bit of fear trickles down her spine as if one of the candles floating up above were dripping wax onto her hunched back.</p><p>“Your circumstances and experience made you cunning, but I can hardly spot an ounce of ambition in you unless I consider your ambition to enjoy yourself. You're brave but where's your initiative? Your passion for things beyond your own self-interest? It's there, but small in comparison to your loyalty. But then you like risk too – you're reckless, but controlled with it. Hard-working if I've ever seen it, but not from your own desire to be so, but rather so you can manifest the freedom to pursue your own wants. There's not much academically that catches your interest, is there? Magic doesn't count, it's too centric to your own enjoyment... Resourceful and good at finding solutions to problems, but beyond that not much curiosity nor creativity...”</p><p>She winces and feels the hat jostle on her head with the motion. This feels like a battle between compliments and insults she isn't glad to bear the brunt of.</p><p>“Certainly not a Ravenclaw; despite your sparse sparks of interest in things that catch your whim you don't <em>value </em>cleverness specifically, even though you are far more clever than you give yourself credit for. You do value learning, in a vague sense... but no, even then, it's not nearly large enough to justify placing you there... Not Slytherin, either. Too fragile for power plays and politics, you need a <em>home – </em>a space to heal<em>.</em> But where to put you? Halfway into each house, you're quite the conundrum, Harry Potter.”</p><p>Hearing her name said by someone who can see inside her mind – could see her Kenzie and her Harry in equal measures – is conflicting. It emphasizes her place in this world more than she likes. It cements her to a role she thinks is bigger than she could ever be. Ties her to a name that isn't hers but is also all that she is.</p><p>It's daunting and terrifying, but there's some part of her that's affirmed. A small piece of her restless soul settles and she clings to that; her name is Harry Potter and she is 11-years-old. She is real, <em>this </em>is real; she is not playing make-believe within a broken mind.</p><p>The hat, no matter how indirectly, is the first to tell her, 'No, you are not crazy. You are alive, you exist, and so do all of your experiences – in this life and the last.' It is overwhelming.</p><p>“You're quite the sentimental type,” the hat says, humming to itself, “so much more complicated and emotional than you let on, I see. A rather perplexing dichotomy. Where to put you... I wonder, what world did you come from before to know so much and so little? I can't even tell the house of the Harry from your world's stories. Do you even remember the color of his robes?”</p><p>“I dunno,” she whispers, thinking on it, “Um, purple maybe?”</p><p>There's a long silence from the hat before it says flatly, “That's not a house color.”</p><p>She cringes a little, “Well I told you I don't know much, didn't I?”</p><p>“Yes,” the hat sighs, “but I thought you'd at least know the houses by now.”</p><p>“Aren't you the one who can see inside my head?”</p><p>“Hmph. Do you think I have the capacity to process every single sparse bit of knowledge you have?”</p><p>“You did say you were the smartest hat around,” she jokes, finding herself relaxing.</p><p>“I did. Though if I were to be <em>that </em>smart, I'd have to wonder about the wits of the wizard who created me. Now, back to the subject at hand; where to put you?”</p><p>“Don't ask me, I'm indecisive.”</p><p>“Yes, true,” the hat makes a noise as if it's smacking its nonexistent lips, “well, I suppose it comes down to what you <em>want</em> to be, doesn't it? Brave, courageous, free-spirited, <em>adventurous</em>. I think that leaves me with –</p><p>GRYFFINDOR!”</p><p>That... makes sense. If it's based on values she supposes it's quite clear that courage would be at the top of the list for her. She's always wanted to fly higher than she's ever seen. Do <em>more. Be </em>more.</p><p>But really, she doesn't <em>think</em> she's that brave. Her heart feels like a marching band stomping all over her lungs, battering her rib cage as if they are cymbals to an unheard drumset within her chest.</p><p>As she steps off the stool, the cheers become deafening. Especially from a table housing what looks like twins shouting – “We got Potter! We got Potter!”</p><p>That must be the Gryffindor table. At least, she hopes. She has no idea if she's right, but she takes off towards them all the same. Really, if it <em>isn't</em>, she only has those two redheads to blame.</p><p>She notices both Neville and Hermione already sitting at the table. A weight she didn't know she had lifts off her shoulders at the sight. She makes her way towards them, watching them scoot to the side to clear a space between them and another, much older student – also redhaired, surprisingly. The cheery commotion of the hall is infectious, and she feels a grin making its way to her face as she sets herself down next to Hermione.</p><p>“Oh, Harry, isn't this wonderful?” Hermione asks, leaning in for a hug that Harry <em>was not expecting, they've only known each other for a few hours what's happening – </em></p><p>Harry tenses, gently patting Hermione on the back before slowly relaxing into the grip. The hug is over in seconds, but she feels warmer from it – like she's been wrapped in a thick blanket and sat by a fire.</p><p>She waves at Neville sitting beside Hermione, sharing a quick greeting. Throughout the course of all of this, the cheering still persists.</p><p>It's embarrassing.</p><p>She settles to face the front, noticing the older redhead once again, now in front of her. His hand is stretched out for a handshake, and his robes have a large badge on them.</p><p>“Percy Weasley,” the older boy says, shaking her hand in a firm grip, “pleased to meet you, Potter. If you ever need anything, come to me. I'm a prefect, so it's my responsibility to – “</p><p>“Lay off, <em>Percy the Prefect</em>,” a hand claps down on one of Percy's shoulders.</p><p>“Yeah, you'll talk his ear off!” another hand, this time on the opposite shoulder</p><p>“Besides,” the face of one of the twins peeks over Percy's shoulder, eyes lit up with mischief.</p><p>“You're interrupting the ceremony,” the other finishes, head popping out on the other side like they're an angel and a devil on Percy's shoulders. Though, with the way their eyes gleam, she suspects they'd both be devils.</p><p>They're right, though, as she hears the hat call out a decisive “RAVENCLAW!” from the front of the hall.</p><p>Percy blushes, corraling them away, but they only drop down to the left of him; still craning their heads around his shoulder to peer at Harry.</p><p>“He's rather small, don't you think?” one mock whispers.</p><p>“You're right, Fred.”</p><p>“Aren't I always, George.”</p><p>“Only sometimes.”</p><p>“Every time.”</p><p>“More than Percy.”</p><p>“Well, everyone's more right than Percy.”</p><p>“Too true, Fred.”</p><p>“Right again, see?” Fred grins, ignoring Percy's loud hush.</p><p>Harry's dizzy just trying to keep up with them, even though it's rather amusing. She tries to turn back to Hermione, thinking the conversation done, but –</p><p>“We've bored him!”</p><p>“Can't have that.”</p><p>“Nope.”</p><p>“Not possible.”</p><p>“Must be tired –“</p><p>“It <em>has </em>been a long day.”</p><p>Harry can't help the soft laugh that escapes her lips. Pinching her face into a look of faux annoyance the twins can surely see through, she tilts her head towards them again, eyebrows raised and smirking slightly through her pursed lips in an amused gesture indicating for them to continue<em>.</em></p><p>“Ah! He's entertained!”</p><p>“His judgment's not been entirely skewed by Percy then.”</p><p>“Yes, we must still have some time to save him.”</p><p>“Better be quick, though – “</p><p>“He's getting red.”</p><p>Percy is indeed getting red, the tips of his ears a crimson that matches his hair. His fork is clenched tightly within his fist as he glares at who's she's now assuming are his brothers.</p><p>“Be quiet,” he hisses, “you're disrupting the sorting.”</p><p>“Oh, yes – “ George nodded solemnly.</p><p>“Can't forget the sorting,” Fred finishes. Though the words are mocking, they do quiet down. Or, they at least move their attention to someone else.</p><p>Harry finally turns back to the front of the hall, absentmindedly watching the sorting. The boy from the train – the one with the bloody nose – is sorted into Gryffindor. He sits down caddy-corner to her and she's glad for the distance.</p><p>She wishes she could appreciate this new role she's been given, but she doesn't. It's too big for her.</p><p>It's <em>not</em> her.</p><p> </p><p>“Welcome!” Dumbledore says, standing with a large flourish and a blinding grin, “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!</p><p>“Thank you!”</p><p>Hermione beside her seems concerned with the speech, looking around to gauge the reactions of the other students – overwhelmingly positive – before joining in the applause. Harry herself doesn't know whether or not this is typical wizarding behavior or just Albus Dumbledore. He seems like he could be the eccentric type.</p><p>Food magically springs to the serving plates at the end of the room's applause. All manner of things pile high in front of her. She reaches swiftly for the Yorkshire Pudding, one of the British dishes she's grown to love in this lifetime, and the steak. She feels full just looking at her choices, but resolves to grab more food after she eats her first serving.</p><p>She picks up her glass, filled with something called pumpkin juice – which sounds delicious, but maybe that's just because she's partial to anything pumpkin flavored. That's when the ghost pops through the food.</p><p>She thinks eventually she'll get used to the surprises. That time isn't close though, considering she spills pumpkin juice on her robes.</p><p>“Oh! I'm sorry to scare you, lad,” the ghost says, staring not at her but at the steak on her plate.</p><p>“You're fine,” she says reflexively despite her annoyance, patting her napkin on her robes. She's slightly unsettled by the floating specter. It's probably unfair of her to be unsettled by something outside of the man's control, but, well, he <em>is </em>floating halfway in the table.</p><p>“Here, let me,” Percy says from beside her, waving his arm and cleaning her robes with a swipe.</p><p>“Wow, thanks!” she whispers reverently, staring at her robes in wonder. They look as clean as ever, spotless as the day she got them. She runs her finger over it. The older <strike>younger</strike> boy hadn't even said an incantation.</p><p>“You're welcome,” he says, looking proud.</p><p>“Never seen much magic?” the ghost asks, but doesn't give her a chance to answer before he continues, facing towards her, Hermione, and Neville now, “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”</p><p>“I know who you are!” the Weasley from the train says, “My brothers told me about you – you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”</p><p>“Er,” Harry starts, <em>why </em>are children so rude – but the ghost comes to his own defense first.</p><p>“‘I would <em>prefer</em> you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy – ”</p><p>”Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?” a boy beside Weasley asks, and oh god, children please have some <em>tact –</em></p><p>“Like <em>this</em>,” he says, and shows himself to have even less tact than 11-year-olds by proceeding to <em>pull his head off his neck, what the hell.</em></p><p>She turns to Hermione, face tingly from queasiness. “Please, tell me about magic or books or <em>something,</em>” she pleads.</p><p>Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices the ghost gliding to continue to talk to the two very intrigued boys. At least he can take a hint from his audience.</p><p>“My pleasure,” Hermione says, looking slightly nauseous herself. Though no one can beat Neville who looks as green as the peas.</p><p>“Well, I was thinking about our classes, if you were curious, and I was wondering about potions. See, the textbook doesn't explain much of the science – or, well, processes – behind how potions work. There's plenty of instructions on how to make certain potions, but you're never given a reason as to <em>why </em>those instructions work. For example, the use of your wand is never explained. Sometimes, the book instructs you to stir with a wand and other times with a stirring rod; but it never divulges what a wand does differently than a stirring rod when used for mixing. Does it infuse it with magic? Or does it just avoid the possibility of contaminants that a rod might introduce to the mixture?”</p><p>“I noticed that. It's basically just a cookbook but for potions,” Harry says.</p><p>“Oh! I suppose you're right, it is rather similar. There <em>is</em> a science behind cooking though, and I had thought that Potions would involve learning about something similar to that science. Or, not similar in nature necessarily, but just in the manner of understanding the composition and ingredients.”</p><p>Do normal children talk like this? Harry doesn't know, but she finds she doesn't really care. Listening to Hermione talk is interesting.</p><p>“Maybe that's what the teacher will be focused on explaining to us,” Harry says.</p><p>“Hopefully,” Hermione says, but Neville shakes his head.</p><p>“I don't know much, but I've heard bad things about the potions professor. My gran said he was a Death Eater.”</p><p>“Death Eater?” Harry asks, frowning, “Really?”</p><p>“My gran she, uh, really doesn't like him, so I think so. It's definitely weird though – but Dumbledore's the one who said he was acting as a spy, so I guess he's okay.”</p><p>Harry hums. A spy? Interesting.</p><p>“The magical terrorists? Why is he allowed to teach at a school?” Hermione asks, before shaking her head, “But you're right, if Dumbledore says he was on the side of the Light then he was. It'd be unfair of us to judge him then. Besides, he's our <em>teacher</em>.” She says the last part with great emphasis as if it should mean something to them without more elaboration, but Harry's at a loss for the sudden non sequitur.</p><p>She stares at Hermione, waiting for her to explain what she means. Neville looks lost too, eyes searching Harry's face as if she has the answer.</p><p>“...So?” Harry finally asks after a long pause.</p><p>Hermione looks scandalized, “So? We shouldn't doubt his capabilities for teaching, he's a professor here for a reason.”</p><p>Oh, right, that is what the discussion of 'Death Eater-ness' started off as, hadn't it? Though Hermione seems to have a teacher-complex, and ugh, Harry hates dealing with those.</p><p>“I guess,” Harry says, shrugging, “but teachers can suck a lot too, it just depends.” Neville hesitantly performs an odd combination of a shrug and a nod from beside Hermione. Harry knew she liked the guy for a reason.</p><p>“What?!” Hermione asks, hackles rising, “Teachers are under-credited for their work and they deserve respect for educating and guiding us.”</p><p>“You're right about that, but, I dunno, teachers can still suck even if their job is supposed to be good. Their job's the good part; they can choose to do right by it or they can choose to be arses. It's on the individual.”</p><p>Hermione huffs, “well <em>clearly</em> you just don't like following rules.”</p><p>Harry laughs, “maybe.”</p><p>Maybe.</p><p> </p><p>Desserts go by fast. 'Time flies when you're having fun' flits through her head. She smiles slightly into her robes.</p><p>Fun. She's having <em>fun</em>.</p><p>She is 28 and 11 and 17 all in one and she is <em>having fun </em>drinking pumpkin juice and eating tarts.</p><p>The school song they are lead through makes her laugh, the twins conducting it in a slow tune that makes her eyelids droop. It's all the more humorous that they're actually good at singing. The rules Dumbledore lays out are not quite so humorous, mildly concerning actually, but she does pay mind to them all the same.</p><p>She thinks she should probably look into Quidditch as well. Or at least learn how to fly. She wonders if there's a racing sport rather than just the flying hodgepodge of different muggle sports she'd never really been interested in. Perhaps they have cheerleading here, or some sort of school pride clubs. The student population seems like it would be too small for it, but she does begin to wonder what doing loop-de-loopson a broom would be like. A flying sort of stunt team. If people could figure out a way to dance and form complex routines underwater they must be able to do the same in the air. Or she could at least try to learn trick flying and see where that takes her.</p><p>Sleepily, they retreat to their houses. The prefects lead them up winding staircases to the dormitory, portraits waving as they walk by. She thinks once more about rides and rollercoasters and flying through the sky. Her life has turned into a theme park.</p><p>It's strange but nice. She doesn't want this to change. She doesn't want there to be some evil plot desperate for the destruction of this place.</p><p>She just wants to exist.</p><p>She wants peace, for a little while. A lifetime, if she could have it.</p><p>Then sticks are dropped over Neville's head beside her by a poltergeist, and she thinks that maybe she should focus on exorcising the school first before relaxing.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she asks, grabbing his shoulder to peer at his head instinctively. Of course, there's nothing there but it soothes a part of her all the same.</p><p>“Yes,” Neville responds, red-faced as he rubs his head, “thanks.”</p><p>“Mm-hmm,” she hums, “I wonder why they haven't done anything about him. That could be dangerous.”</p><p>“Oh, poltergeists are harmless!” he says. She raises a skeptical eyebrow at that, but doesn't say anything. Just a few feet higher and those sticks could have caused a concussion.</p><p>“Then the muggle interpretation of them is wrong?” Hermione asks Neville who shrugs helplessly. She plows forward despite his noncommittal answer, “It's fascinating what the cultural divide between muggles and the magical world has done to our perceptions of magical creatures. Or, muggle perceptions, I suppose.”</p><p>Another boy interjects, “Yeah, I always thought dragons could talk! Like Smaug from that cartoon.”</p><p>“Oh, you mean 'The Hobbit'! Are you muggle-raised as well?” Hermione asks.</p><p>“Yeah! Mum's a muggle at least. I don't know about my dad,” he says the last part a little more quietly, before perking up again, “but learning I was a wizard was pretty cool all the same!”</p><p>“It was for me as well,” Hermione says, nodding sharply to punctuate her statement, “I'm Hermione Granger, what's your – “</p><p>“Oi! First years, quiet down back there,” Percy shouts from the front of the group. The Gryffindors erupt into nervous laughter and whispers. Hermione goes bright red, looking ashamed.</p><p>Harry nudges her shoulder as they keep walking, but the other girl doesn't seem to process it.</p><p>Right. Teacher's pet and a strict rule follower. Harry wishes she could say something to make her feel better, but there isn't much that can get through to people like that besides experience.</p><p>She's never been much good with words anyway.</p><p> </p><p>The common room is swathed in gold and burgundy. Cushiony maroon chairs sit haphazardly in front of a red, roaring fire. It makes her think of her sister and her friend. Deep chestnut-colored sweaters, hot cocoa, and <em>warmth. </em>Getting snowed in on winter evenings and making chocolate chip cookies with only the light from the candles and the blue fire of her old fireplace to guide them.</p><p>It feels, strangely enough, like home. A thousand miles and universes away.</p><p> </p><p>The prefects give a speech before sending them to bed – saying something about the staircase to the girls' dormitory turning into a slide if boys try to go up it.</p><p>She tries it in the middle of the night when everyone is asleep in their beds. She climbs the first step of the staircase to the girl's dormitory. Then the second. Then the third, until she's halfway to the top and she can't contain her giddy smile.</p><p>She's a girl, and something, no matter how small and inhuman, acknowledges that. It's a validation she hasn't realized she needed.</p><p>(She is Harry Potter – she is Kenzie.</p><p>She is a girl.</p><p>
  <strike>But she is a boy.</strike>
</p><p><em>She is a girl.</em>)</p><p>She is alive and human and <em>her.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Y’all are either gonna hate me for this or just be neutral I feel, lolol. I'm genuinely sorry to anyone who is disappointed about her house placement. I hope the stair scene makes up for it?</p><p>“Ah, you just chose the easiest”: arguably, maybe. But for me? Probably not as it’s easiest to write OC’s for me and working with pre-existing established characters is much harder than if I had put her in Hufflepuff (which is what was my original plan and I had a few future scenes set up for it I had to scrap when I realized it just didn’t feel right and/or work) or Ravenclaw (my second choice). Additionally, it would be so much easier to make the major changes to canon when she’s not, y’know, in Gryffindor tower and thus close to a lot of the plot convenience of the books. It’s easier to change things or at least make it <em>seem</em> like you’re changing things if Harry had gone to literally any other house.</p><p>‘But you write so much fanfic what do you mean OC’s are easiest?!?!’ Yes, I do, because of the pre-existing plot, oneshot opportunities, and mainly my attachment to the characters/story. But <em>writing</em> mostly pre-existing characters is hard af for me.</p><p>Most of the fics I write from the perspective of pre-existing characters are just characters I relate to so I use myself to help guide it.</p><p>Anyway, the point being, one of the largest reasons I made this fic was so I could contribute to a HP insert fic that <em>wasn’t</em> Slytherin or Gryffindor because I’d always wanted to read a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw insert. (And you know what they say about making the content you want to read, lol.) That… didn’t work out though (and is slightly upsetting because of it, but it really felt weird trying to write her any other way), but I’ve been able to focus on characterizing the Gryffindors in a way that makes them not a struggle for me to write as pre-existing characters. Additionally, the stairs scene was very fucking fun to write as an apology for the probably underwhelming sorting.</p><p>But yeah, the literal purpose of this story was to have a Hufflepuff Harry insert fic because I’ve never found one once. If anyone’s got any they can recommend please please share them, you lovely humans. </p><p>Also, I really tried to explain why I think she’s a Gryffindor in the sorting hat scene, but to reiterate: this girl is very cunning, yes. She’s also loyal, brave, clever, etc. BUT, what she <em>values</em> the absolute most is bravery. Humans are complex, so I don’t think anyone’s really excluded from any house. But based on her upbringing in both lives, I didn't think she’d hold cunning or ambition to a high standard because usually when she’s being cunning she associates it to negativity on both her and the situation (she doesn’t mind it as a trait or anything, but I don’t think she’d consider it a value or a strength of hers). So honestly, value-wise it was between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor and Gryffindor won out (for reasons I hope will become gradually clearer as the story continues). A big part of why the hat put her in Gryffindor was because, as said in the text, it was the house it thought she would find the most happiness in. Slytherin and Ravenclaw would be much harder for her to find a home in, not because they're bad houses, but because they're not places in which she's as free to create her own path. Slytherins and Ravenclaws have many expectations within their house behavior I feel, and whilst that's sort of true for Gryffindor, it's still in a much less emotionally taxing way for <em>her</em> socially. </p><p>Though don’t think for a second that there aren’t inter-house friendships coming up. I’ve got some really surprising/and or weird things coming to spice things up and change the feel of the book from the original canon. </p><p>Fun tidbit: I had originally planned as having the maroon and silver embroidered robes be something she wore on the weekends that people would be weirded out over because they were ‘colors of an opposing house’. Those were the ones I didn’t think I was going to put her in, so I thought they’d be safe bets. However, I think it’s funnier honestly that she’s a Gryffindor with one pair of Gryffindor colored robes and a ‘Slytherin’ inspired one b/c they seem to have the most intense rivalry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Past is a Dangerous Creature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She takes a long, hot shower for the first time in years, careful to avoid damaging her hair with the heat.</p><p>Such simple things, but they make her feel luxurious.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>On the subject of class schedules... there's literally no coherence whatsoever, fucking hell.</p><p>I absolutely do not care that Herbology classes meet ‘three times a week’. With the way JK wrote her classes, it’s practically impossible to actually create a schedule that fits all classes in equally whilst remaining true to her randomly inserted class details as well as allowing for all 7 other years to get equal class time, so I adapted my own. As of rn, the schedule I created does not conflict with any events, though it does conflict with the other 6 years taking courses (we’re going to ignore that though, and just go with it). It’s not a particularly good school schedule, but it fits the most with how classes are described in the book and gets everything in equally. Additionally, having a time frame is really helpful even if I won’t use it too much. It helps prevent smaller plot holes for me (and preventing smaller plot holes helps to prevent even larger ones). Again, it fucking sucks but it works and that’s all that matters.</p><p>Altogether there are 7 classes a week, 2-3-4 periods a day, 6 occur in the daytime (astronomy is only on Wednesday evenings), there are also double periods. What mainly made the schedule so weird was that the first Potions class is on Friday of the first week and is a double period, meaning they'd yet to go to potions all week.... I dunno, maybe I should have made it a once-a-week class, but that still makes the schedule very convoluted.</p><p> </p><p>Free periods every day besides Thursday, (changes into electives with third year). A single period is an hour long and a double is 2 hours. Regular schedule is thus:</p><p>1 and 2 both doubles</p><p>2 single and 3 double</p><p>3 single 4 double </p><p>4 single 5 double 6 single</p><p>5 single 6 double. </p><p> </p><p>Classes and who they’re taken with:</p><p>1 Defense against the Dark Arts (Gryffindors) </p><p>2 Charms (Gryffindors)</p><p>3 Herbology w/ Hufflepuffs</p><p>4 History of Magic w/ Ravenclaws</p><p>5 Transfiguration (Gryffindors)</p><p>6 Potions w/ Slytherin</p><p>(Care of magical creatures is shared with Slytherin later, Divination is solely Gryffindors)</p><p> </p><p>First week schedule (this is a different schedule because the first potions class is on Friday and also accounting for first week schedules usually being different): </p><p>1 double</p><p>2 double</p><p>3 double with astronomy in the evening</p><p>4 and 5 double</p><p>6 double</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first day is stressful. She wakes up early, her internal clock helping her remain on schedule even without an alarm. Her morning routine is slightly longer than usual, given that she can freely wash and moisturize her face without interruptions from the Dursleys or calls to stop wasting the water. She takes a long, hot shower for the first time in years, careful to avoid damaging her hair with the heat.</p><p>Such simple things, but they make her feel luxurious.</p><p>Walking back into the bedroom after her time in the bathroom, she finds only the muggle-raised boy from the night before up. He's not changed yet, just stretching and blinking blearily at the windows. It's not quite bright enough to blind anyone just waking up, but there's still some light peaking through the panes as the sun begins to rise. It's gorgeous.</p><p>“Good morning,” she whispers, setting her nightclothes into the wooden container at the end of her bed labeled 'laundry'.</p><p>“Good morning,” he says back, voice raspy with sleep. It's so different than the night before where it was high and reedy as most preteens sound. He yawns, kicking his feet out and flopping back onto the bed as he stretches his legs.</p><p>“I never caught your name...,” she trails off, knowing that if she doesn't say anything now, she would lose all courage to do so later.</p><p>“Oh, it's Dean. Dean Thomas.”</p><p>“I'm Harry Potter,” she says, committing the name to memory. The night before, everyone had been too tired to socialize. They'd collapsed in their beds and fallen asleep almost immediately. She's one of the few who even took the time to change.</p><p>“Really?” he asks, but not with the same hero worship as the others who've asked it. She remembers that he's muggle-raised like her.</p><p>“You're the one dude with the, uh, scar thingy, right? I dunno, but Finnigan was saying something about it on the train yesterday,” he says, nodding to a freckled boy still snoring in bed. A bit of drool soaks his pillow and she grimaces.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, “that's me. Do you think we should wake them up?”</p><p>The sky still shows that it's only sunrise, but it doesn't seem like there's an alarm system and she certainly doesn't know any spells to keep time. There's no clock in the dorms either, but maybe there's one in the common room that she missed. She'll have to check and maybe buy herself a wristwatch at some point.</p><p>“Probably,” he mutters but doesn't make any move to do so. She sighs, taking the burden upon herself. It's not like she doesn't have experience waking up preteen boys, but if they're anything like her past brother...</p><p>“Rise and shine!” she shouts, ignoring the way Dean's head swivels to her in surprise at her loudness. It's best to be upfront about these sorts of things, but she knows it's still a sudden interruption to the early morning quietness.</p><p>It's best to burst the bubble of peace hard and fast, though.</p><p>“Argh!” Neville yells, tumbling off the bed in a flurry of limbs and blankets. She winces, not sure if she should apologize or not...</p><p>Well, at least he's up.</p><p>“Bloody hell,” Weasley grumbles pulling his blanket over his head and burrowing further into the bed.</p><p>Finnigan doesn't even twitch. Oh, if only she could sleep like him.</p><p>She starts circling the room, helping Neville out of his fabric trappings first. He's the most aware after such a rude awakening, but she's at least happy he won't be late to get ready. It's good to get an early start on the first day, anyway.</p><p>She tugs at Finnigan's shoulder next and he groans, shifting onto his stomach and burying his face in the pool of drool on his pillow, making her grimace. Even that doesn't wake him up.</p><p>She sighs, shaking him a few more times before moving onto Weasley. She rips the blanket from Weasley's grip, pulling it down to expose him to the cool September air.</p><p>“Noooo,” he whines, looking pitiful.</p><p>“Up and at 'em,” she says, clapping her hands in his face.</p><p>The job done as much as she can, she leaves them to each other's mercy. If they go back to bed, then at least she can say that she tried.</p><p> </p><p>She's one of the first in the common room, but she isn't surprised to see Hermione there as well. Two other girls stand beside her, looking flustered and annoyed. Harry guesses that Hermione dragged them down with her and holds back a smile.</p><p>“Good morning,” she says, smiling at Hermione. Hermione grins back, vibrating with energy even though it's far too early in the morning for it.</p><p>“Good morning! I'm so excited! Are you? I can't wait to see what we'll learn today. We haven't gotten our schedules yet, but I hope it will be a full day of classes first.”</p><p>The girls beside Hermione roll their eyes. Harry turns to smile at them and they glance up, taking their first good look at her. Their eyes widen.</p><p>“Are you guys excited?” she asks, playing the role of mediator. She's not accustomed to it, but she's also the oldest here and she doesn't want these girl's tiredness to dampen Hermione's fun.</p><p>The Indian girl closest to Hermione seems resigned to taking the plunge and answering as the pale-white girl with wavy hair beside her seems too enthralled to speak.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, even though her sleep-strained voice doesn't sound it. Her eyes, however, are sparkling, “I'm hoping to see my sister before we go to classes so I'm glad to wake up early, actually. – ” Harry's surprised with how grumpy she seems then. Perhaps she's just not a morning person “– I'm Parvati Patil, by the way.”</p><p>“Harry Potter,” she says back, but only out of courtesy. It's clear they know who she is. The other girl perks up, her energy finally overflowing into action. Parvati's clearly trying to tamp down her own reaction. It's still there, but she's not quite as open about it.</p><p>“Oh my gosh, Harry Potter,” the other girl says, eyes wide as she seems to break from her trance, “you're so brave, I can't imagine how powerful you must be – “</p><p>“Er, just, it's not a big deal,” she says, looking to Hermione for help. Hermione, however, is rapidly counting her parchment in the messenger bag at her side. Right; nerd.</p><p>“But it is!” the girl yells suddenly passionate. Parvati places a hand on her arm, and she blushes.</p><p>“Right, sorry, I'm just excited. My name's Lavender Brown by the way,” Lavender says, fluttering her eyelashes a little, and oh no, Harry forgot that with being famous came children with crushes. She can't deal with this right now. It's much too early to be handling enamored girls still young enough to be using that candy-colored lip gloss she loved so much as a kid.</p><p>In fact, Lavender seems to be dolled up with a full face of tacky makeup as many 11-year-old girls were when Harry had been growing up the first time. Mascara clumps on her lashes and bright pink blush cakes on her face. Looking closer, it seems Parvati has some cheap makeup on as well. Even the wizarding world seems doomed to make many girls suffer the stage of bright blue eyeshadow and sticky-sweet lip gloss, then. It makes Harry almost nostalgic. She wishes she could buy some of those things without being looked at weirdly or feeling too childish on her part.</p><p>Maybe she could teach these girls how to do their makeup. That would be fun. Especially considering highlighter won't begin trending until around 20 years in the future. Or, maybe that trend would only arise in the muggle world with how archaic the wizarding world seems fashion-wise.</p><p>If only Lavender would stop talking about her being 'the-boy-who-lived', that is. If not, then maybe she could teach Hermione? Though she doesn't seem like the type of person who'd wear makeup. The boys are all probably too young to be over their 'ew, makeup' stage as well. Perhaps Parvati would be up to it, but she thinks just hanging out with Parvati alone might make someone like Lavender jealous. Though maybe she doesn't know enough about her yet to truly say. Ugh, children are so complicated.</p><p>“Oh, Harry,” Hermione cuts into Lavender's rant obliviously, “did you want to go the library before breakfast to get those books I told you about?”</p><p>“That would be great,'” she says, taking the out gratefully.</p><p>“It was nice to meet you,” Harry says over her shoulder, rushing to exit the common room as quickly as she can.</p><p>As the portrait-door closes behind her, she breathes a sigh of relief before tensing. Crap, she forgot to look for a clock.</p><p>Plus, where the hell is the library?</p><p> </p><p>She's glad she woke up early. The journey to the library took them at least a half-hour because of the winding staircases and trick hallways. The walk back to the Great Hall for breakfast was quicker once they caught up with a group of older Ravenclaw students who led them down the stairs. They were overly enthusiastic to help Harry and, though she's glad to have gotten to breakfast early, it still left a bad taste in her mouth. She thinks that maybe hanging out with only other muggle-raised students would be best. Barring Neville, of course.</p><p>The Great Hall is still uncrowded when Hermione and her reach it. Mostly older students and Prefects sit at the tables. Most of the Professors she remembers from last night are there, passing out pamphlets to the Prefects or talking to each other at their table. Hermione and her aren't the only first years there. She sees the blonde boy from the train and a few other people surrounding him at the farthest table from the Gryffindors. His robes are accented with green. Slytherin, maybe?</p><p>Lavender and Parvati are finishing up their breakfast at the Gryffindor table and she sees Terry Boot at the table beside the Slytherin one dressed in blue accented robes. Dean is the only boy who made it down from Gryffindor. She's hoping that the other boys are at least awake.</p><p>Hermione rushes to Percy's side as soon as they arrive, buzzing with questions. Harry trails after her, bag heavy with all the books she already signed out with the help of the ill-tempered librarian. She has all of her textbooks in it as well, unsure what the coming schedule will be for the day. They haven't given any hint to the schedule yet, so she just assumes it will be a normal 7-8 period class day like her old high school.</p><p>Or, perhaps the classes per day would be smaller in number considering the school's ridiculous layout. Not only is it an enormous building for how many students there are, it is also overly complicated to navigate. Of all the places to host children, this seems like the worst. It's fun, for sure, but utterly nonsensical for finding anything at all. A good majority of students must get lost for hours and she can't imagine that's conducive to learning anything.</p><p>Harry leaves Hermione to her questions and sits down at the table next to Dean, and across from Lavender and Parvati. Perhaps continued exposure can help tamp down the hero worship.</p><p>“'Morning,” she says reflexively, reaching for a slice of toast. She has the strangest urge to check for an avocado to spread on it before remembering it's the 90s and she's in Britain. It's not like she's even had avocado in this life, so the thought surprises her. She clenches her fist at the wave of frustration it sends through her. She isn't <em>before, </em>she <em>knows </em>this.</p><p>She grabs the butter and silently spreads it as the other first years reply to her in kind.</p><p>She doesn't say anything else, even as they start trying to get to know each other. Her head feels like it's underwater as she eats her toast numbly.</p><p>It's strange how the smallest things can hurt so much.</p><p> </p><p>“Look!” Hermione says, waving a piece of paper in the air as she plops down in the seat beside Harry, “It's our class schedule! Percy said that they hang them in the dorms but we got up so early that we must have missed them. The prefects usually wake the first years up and have them meet downstairs to tell us but they weren't able to do that with most of us being gone. Oh, I wish they'd told us last night.”</p><p>Harry hums, looking up from the serving of beans she'd been pushing around on her plate. Her mind had been chanting 'you need protein' at her for the last 10 minutes but she's yet to stomach more than one bite. Hermione's distraction is nice, though Harry's tongue feels too heavy to respond so she just nods. Her mind is achingly slow as she processes the words, staring blankly at the paper.</p><p>“What's first?” she finally croaks out, not confident in her ability to remember much more than that at the moment.</p><p>“Double Defense with just the Gryffindors today, it seems,” Hermione says, frowning at the paper, “hmm, that'll be such a small class. I hope that means we get to ask more questions.”</p><p>“Probably,” Harry says, brain slowly beginning to reboot, “what's after that?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Hermione says glumly, “If only we were able to do every class today.”</p><p>Harry resists the urge to tell her they <em>can</em> – that every U.S. High school does that – and takes a look at the paper.</p><p>Huh, that's... a weird schedule. With that much free time, though, she isn't complaining. At least it's more coherent after the first week. They must take into account all of the people who get lost trying to find their way in this hell hole of a school and make the schedule easier to manage for the first week.</p><p>The small size of the staff could explain it. The professors must teach all seven years of students as well as the 4 houses throughout the week.</p><p>Hopefully she likes her professors, as it seems she'll be stuck with them for the foreseeable future.</p><p>“Weird,” Harry says in response, “What's the room number?”</p><p>“3C, which I'm assuming means the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor. Percy showed me a charm to show the time – 8:27 right now – and classes start at 10 am through the first week. That gives us an hour and a half to get to the classroom. We should leave now just in case we get lost. Besides, getting there early means we can look over the book together.”</p><p>Harry can't argue with that. It was pure luck that got them to the Library so quickly. It's better to be early than late and it's not like they can do much in the meantime.</p><p>“We should walk with the others” – here Harry inclines her head to Dean, Parvati, and Lavender who are talking amongst themselves, long done with breakfast – “just so we can make sure at least half of us get there without getting lost.”</p><p>“Oh, you're right,” Hermione says, moving to stand, “I'll tell them to get ready to go.”</p><p>She sits back down almost immediately though, serving herself an egg and potatoes.</p><p>“After I eat! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she exclaims, “I can't believe I'd almost forgotten it!”</p><p>Harry nods, finally spooning some beans in her mouth as Hermione shovels her food into her mouth impressively quickly. Harry's hardly made it through three bites of beans by the time Hermione slams her silverware back onto the table and swiftly stands, trotting off to the other side of Dean – only two spaces down from her previous seat. Though, Harry thinks it does make more sense for Hermione to not have to lean around Harry the whole time to speak.</p><p>Hermione's clearly a much more capable leader than she is, so she doesn't make a move to help. She refuses to acknowledge what that says about her considering Hermione's technically over a decade younger.</p><p>Well, she has to finish her beans anyway. Protein <em>is</em> important.</p><p>She adds a fried tomato to her plate as well. The U.K. really needs some better breakfast vegetables. She doesn't even know if the mushrooms on the table count as vegetables, but she knows that she'll never touch the things if she can help it.</p><p>Before she knows it, Hermione's pulling on her upper arm, dragging her out of her seat mid-bite.</p><p>“Wha-” she exclaims, desperately grabbing for the last half of the tomato with her hand as she stumbles to her feet.</p><p>“No time!” Hermione yells, hauling her towards the expansive doors of the Great Hall, “Dean's just had a wonderful idea!”</p><p>She glances back at Dean, walking much more composed behind her.</p><p>“Er,” he starts, looking a little sheepish at her state. Harry sees Lavender and Parvati still sitting casually at the table and curses the luck that comes with befriending the passionate, “I just thought we might try to meet back up with the other boys. Show them the Great Hall and then find our class together, y'know? Besides, I hadn't packed my Defense textbook.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” she says, finally righting herself. She speeds up her pace to keep up with Hermione's almost-jog. It explains why Lavender and Parvati stayed behind.</p><p>“Hurry up!” Hermione calls, somehow both frantic and composed at once as she pulls ahead of them, “We only have an hour and a half left!”</p><p>Harry sighs at the words, smiling slightly in amusement as she trudges after her, Dean keeping pace at her heels.</p><p>“<em>'Only' </em>an hour and a half?” he asks behind her, sounding exasperated, “is she barmy?”</p><p>Harry shrugs, because probably, but so far, it doesn't seem to be in a bad way.</p><p> </p><p>Practically running to the 7<sup>th</sup> floor and back down to the first within the span of 30 minutes is hard even in her young body. Dean and her settle onto the floor right outside of the Great Hall to rest as the rest of the Gryffindors eat or, in Hermione's case, hound them to eat as quickly as possible. At least, Harry assumes that's what Hermione's doing.</p><p>Parvati and Lavender are probably still socializing within the Great Hall as well. Parvati did say she wanted to talk with her sister before classes. Though they may have already headed to the classroom.</p><p>As she closes her eyes, Dean silent beside her – somehow knowing that she's not much for talking right then (an impressive show of social awareness for an 11-12 -year-old) – a snarled reprimand reaches her ears.</p><p>“Students are not allowed to sit on the floor, no matter their... statuses,” a Professor says, words slow and dangerous. He is draped in black robes, greasy hair hanging limply around scorn-filled eyes, “what are you? Dimwits? Get off the floor, <em>now.</em>”</p><p>“Uh, sorry,” she says, moving to stand; she's sure she doesn't sound sorry at all, not bothering to care that much about a rule she finds so utterly pointless. By the man's face, he can clearly tell.</p><p>“1 point from Gryffindor for your arrogant attitude,” he says, sneering and whipping his robe behind him as he walks away.</p><p>She raises her eyebrows, frowning in annoyance at the man's back and sitting back down in defiance of his words. What an arse. Her chest hollows with disappointment at losing a point so quickly, even though she knows that logically it's just a game – she can't help her desire to win. Now, that desire is tinged with spite. She'll win in whatever way necessary, even if only to get back at the grumpy bastard.</p><p>She hopes the man just teaches an elective and not something important. He clearly shouldn't be around children.</p><p>Mentally shrugging it off as best she can, she leans her head back against the wall and rests, waiting for the other first-years to join them. She can only imagine the pestering Hermione is doing to the 3 boys who haven't eaten yet.</p><p>She's glad to be an early riser, even if the circumstances of being so aren't the best.</p><p>“Uhh, aren't you going to get off the floor, Potter?” Dean asks.</p><p>She eyes him nervously swiveling his head around as if trying to spot the acerbic professor. She shrugs.</p><p>“No, and call me Harry,” she says, closing her eyes once more in a show of faux casualness. These kids need to learn how to live their own lives, and she honestly doesn't think her sitting on the floor makes her such a bad influence. Besides, she's tired and doesn't particularly want to stand up – especially at the command of such a sour person.</p><p>“Er, alright Harry.”</p><p>She breathes out through her nose. It's been a very long morning. Hopefully the rest of the day will go quicker. They only have one class, after all.</p><p>“HOW ARE WE AT NEGATIVE POINTS ALREADY?” a voice, which sounds suspiciously like Professor McGonagall's, bellows from within the Great Hall.</p><p>Harry winces, feeling her face burn with the weight of Dean's stare. She hopes that the other first years will finish up quickly, or that perhaps one of the other Gryffindors will gain a point so that no one will investigate the loss of points too much. It's already hard enough to fly under the radar as Harry Potter, she doesn't need to add being the first one to lose house points to the list.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry about the later update than usual, I spent most of yesterday with family and doing yard work. Today was ridiculously busy as well - can't very well update a chapter while driving, can you, lol. But here it finally is! Tell me if I'm dragging this out too long btw! I plan to skim the next few days and not excessively detail stuff as I did in this chapter, I'm just trying to form the bonds and frame the classes rn! Or maybe the better words will be that the next chapter includes more plot progression than this one.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Easy to Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>She thinks her anxiety might be stronger in this life than in the last.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Astronomy is like, the only equivalent course to the muggle world, but in this fic, astronomy will basically just be astrology but with a little bit more facts applied to it. This is because, for some reason, I thought Firenze came into 5th year to teach astronomy, not divination, and I have rewritten this chapter too many times to care at this point. Also, the class isn't really major at all, so I don't think it matters, lol?</p><p>Here's a fun fanfic cultural analysis for y'all: so, typically, Christian majority muggle cultures don’t really value cunning. Usually, it’s viewed as a ‘sinful/evil/malevolent' trait and is frequently associated with villains (especially Disney ones - what children grow up on, usually). Even ambition is tinged with a negative, ‘greedy’ vibe. However, those are the house traits for Slytherin, which is typically populated with purebloods of high social standard indicating that cunning and ambition are traits highly valued in the magical world without any of the negative baggage the muggle world applies to them. With that, I wouldn't think there would be much negative baggage attached to the house besides Voldemort’s association to the house, but it was already the house of the more influential families indicating a greater cultural appreciation of Slytherin traits. Most muggle-borns are in Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. What are the traits of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor? Loyalty, justness, hard work, bravery, chivalry, etc. Those are all extremely idolized traits in large parts of the muggle world — especially in the time periods and places Harry grew up in both lives. Thus, there’s a cultural divide happening, and because more muggle-borns associate values to be about how seemingly <em>good</em> of a person you are rather than what your strengths are they are going to flock to the values they have been told are ‘good’ because they’re <em>11</em>.  They are literally just following the ideals society has set out for them at this point. I’m not going to credit j.k. on any of this because it clearly wasn’t intentional and she obviously viewed Slytherin traits negatively (a product of her Christian upbringing and also just her awfulness). But, the unintentional world-building still seems to be there. </p><p>This is one of the main reasons I feel we don’t see any muggle-borns in Slytherin. If Salazar was so blood purist as to restrict muggle-borns from being sorted there, I feel he would restrict any half-blood (especially muggle-raised) as well. But really, if muggle-borns are already just less likely to enter into the house because of cultural differences, it makes sense that it would further the insulation of Slytherin culture as ’blood purist’ even if that’s not what it inherently is.</p><p>This is also what I was trying to explain in chapter 11's end note (but I feel like I failed to explain it fully). Harry was raised in overwhelmingly Christian environments and in Christian majority countries in both lives. No, she does not and will not think Slytherins are evil or bad and finds that sentiment incredibly stupid. However, value-wise, she was not raised in a culture that appreciates the strengths of Slytherins. She has come to value the traits over the years (as they are a huge part of her and helped her quite a lot over the years), but she still sadly does not appreciate them as much as the traits she has been told are ‘good’ for the past 27 years. This and the fact that I thought it’d be unhealthy for her to be in an environment of high propriety (because again, that cultural divide rears its head and she really will not be able to handle a place that isn’t semi-muggle friendly — no Slytherins aren’t evil, but a good lot of them are also children raised by Death Eaters which would make it not a very muggle friendly space unless she constantly goes against the grain to help these kids break free of their parent's beliefs - which she will, but it'll be slow, so it's best for her to not be within the environment while it's happening so she can have space away from that clash. Plus, she also wants to hang out with muggle-borns/raised for a reason beyond just 'less' prejudice). This seeming cultural value of cunning and ambition also actually removes the ‘evilness’ from the house. When it’s considered proper and good to be in Slytherin/have Slytherin traits, the rich and powerful will flock to it. The house being made up of primarily powerful pureblood families who are concerned with their reputation means that the reasoning behind them joining ppl like Voldemort is because of the ability to keep their place at the top of society, not because they are cunning, ambitious, Slytherins, but because they were desperately clinging to their social standing.</p><p>I dunno if this makes sense, and tell me if I missed something major, but if you're curious: Harry does continue to be extremely cunning, and entire parts of my outline rely on it, lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Defense against the Dark Arts can only be characterized by the splitting headache she receives during it; probably from the overwhelming smell of garlic. Quirrel gives her the creeps too, but she thinks that's just her discomfort over having a man terrified of his own shadow teach children how to defeat monsters.</p><p>It doesn't seem like the greatest idea. Then again, the Weasley twins told her that a ghost teaches the history course and Harry thinks that might be even worse. How can a ghost be trusted to keep up with the proper current education? Just how old is the ghost? Perhaps if they're younger, it would make sense, but most of the ones she's seen so far seem to be from before the 1700s. It sounds like a recipe for disaster.</p><p>Charms is, well, it seems to have potential, at least. Flitwick doesn't seem particularly unsuited to teaching, barring his special treatment of her. Though, perhaps that's to be expected. For his sake, she hopes his wonder of her existence dies down soon. She's not particularly inclined to giving the man the autograph he so clearly wants from her if he doesn't at least tamp it down a little. If he keeps up his act, she might just charge him money for it.</p><p>There's an idea. She'll be rich if she does that, though honestly she doesn't need any more money.</p><p>Suddenly, the thought of the stock market flies into her head. She doesn't have a clue how it works, but she knows it makes people rich. When does Apple become a company anyway? Can she even partake in the stock market as a legal child/wizard?</p><p>Does she even need the money for something she doesn't really care or know about anyway?</p><p>She pushes the thought away, resolving to most likely never think of it again. Who really cares? If she needs money she'll get it somehow, and if it comes down to it she'll approach the idea then. She's 11, for god's sake, and she has literal <em>piles</em> of money right now.</p><p>She thinks her anxiety might be stronger in this life than in the last. For one thing, Flitwick's tumble made her heart drop. Falling off the books he was standing on? Really, that's a bit dramatic – and dangerous! She thinks her reaction to it was valid.</p><p>(Really, rushing to the front of the room probably only caused the man to put her further on a pedestal, but honestly all she was thinking about was that he could've broken his neck. In moments like that, it's just instinct that drives you, not character. It's always a bit uncomfortable how quickly her anxiety makes her react. Harry's not necessarily methodic or slow in her choices – as she knows she can be quite impulsive – but she's usually still in control of the actions she takes. When incidents like that happen, it feels almost as if she's lost herself – her autonomy.)</p><p>Herbology, though, has so much potential. Professor Sprout is one of the first to treat Harry alarmingly normally. Even the muggle-raised had commented on her celebrity status, but Professor Sprout is the only one utterly nonplussed by her presence. It's refreshing – that and the fact that the woman seems unfailingly kind makes her like the class more than she thought she would. Gardening had only been a tedious chore for her, after all; despite Professor Sprout's insistence that Herbology goes far beyond gardening, Harry can't really think of it as anything else.</p><p>Neville seems to like it too, which is a bonus. The boy needs more confidence.</p><p>Having classes with the other houses is also appreciated. Hogwart's hosts such a small body of students that she almost thinks it would be better to just have the entire year take classes together.</p><p>But it does at least provide a varying amount of class populations for different kinds of learning. The smaller classes can provide more individualized instruction while the larger classes can provide room for discussion. Or something of the sort.</p><p>It's at the Astronomy tower Wednesday evening in which all of the first years <em>do </em>meet up for a class together. A midnight class is strangely thrilling, though she thinks it would make more sense for it to be on a Friday rather than in the middle of the week.</p><p>Harry tries to sleep beforehand, but her dorm mates are too loud – excited for the coming night and adrenaline still high from the first week.</p><p>She begrudgingly joins them, sitting on the edge of the group. They're circled around the furnace in the center of the room, almost too warm for early September.</p><p>“Harry!” Dean yells, voice melding alongside the others' greetings when she trudges up to them, “Did we wake you?”</p><p>“Never fell asleep,” she says with a shrug as she settles herself on the floor. She holds a notebook in her hands, a muggle one she'd pilfered from Petunia's drawer. The bright pink plastic shell, alongside the muggle pen, is looked at curiously by Ron and Neville. She's been doodling in it whenever she can't sleep – which has only been once this week, though during the summer it was slightly more frequent.</p><p>Now, she opens it and begins to sketch a simple flower, ignoring the glances sent by the wizard-raised students beside her. She doesn't really have the energy to explain it to them, and if they ask Dean can explain it. She's not the best at teaching in the first place.</p><p>“Sorry about that, mate,” Ron says, still set on being her friend. It's sweet, in a way, if it weren't a little tiring to handle the attention, “I've just been explaining Quidditch to Dean, here. He's been bloody crazy about this thing called football.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?” Harry asks, “football's pretty fun, but I've never really played it.”</p><p>“What?” Dean asks affronted, “never played football?”</p><p>“Well, I've kicked a ball a few times,” she shrugs, “I dunno if that counts.”</p><p>“You must at least want to play quidditch,” Ron says, near shouting, “it's the best game out there!”</p><p>She dutifully resists the urge to sarcastically retort, “isn't it the only game out there for wizards?” They're children, she reminds herself. Humor the children, even if they're exhausting.</p><p>“Yeah, Hagrid told me about it,” she says, not looking up from her paper, “not really my thing, but flying seems cool.”</p><p>“You haven't even played!” Ron shouts back and she nods, conceding the point but not saying anything further. His brows furrow.</p><p>“I actually think you might like it,” Neville offers, “I-I just mean, you'd be good at it, is all.”</p><p>“Thanks,” she says, “but I don't know, I like more solo stuff. Or if it's a team, less like... <em>that,</em> I guess. I want to be good on my own.”</p><p>“O-oh, that makes sense,” Neville says, biting his lip. She doesn't know if she said anything wrong or if he's just anxious, but she frowns as she looks back to her paper.</p><p>“You could be a beater,” Ron says, “That one you don't really need others to practice at. My brothers are beaters. I usually play keeper – I want to join the house team one day!”</p><p>“Er, I guess, but I have other things I want to do,” Harry says, thinking about all the sports she could apply to flying that <em>are</em><em>n't </em>Quidditch. Really, there's so much potential with broomsticks.</p><p>“Wait, Harry do you draw?” Dean asks, peering around her shoulder at the rather plain flowers and swirls peeking around the lined pages of the notebook.</p><p>“Not really, I just like to doodle,” she replies, starting a zigzag pattern on the inside of the seam. She's always needed something to do with her hands during conversations. In her last life, it had mainly been her phone, the extra stimulation allowing her to better remain focused on the conversation around her (even if everyone thought she was ignoring them, she wasn't).</p><p>“Oh,” he says, looking disappointed.</p><p>“Do you?” she asks.</p><p>“Dean's incredible at it!” Seamus shouts, “he was drawing on the train and it was brilliant! Show 'em, Dean!”</p><p>Dean smiles embarrassedly. “No, I'm not very good. It's just a hobby,” he says bashfully.</p><p>“Come on, let us see mate,” Ron says, leaning forward as if Dean has his sketchbook open right then and there.</p><p>“No, really, it's nothing interesting,” he says, putting his hands in front of his face like a barrier.</p><p>A wicked grin grows on Seamus' face. “Come on then, you showed me fine enough. Are you embarrassed or something?”</p><p>“No,” Dean says, scowling, “I just...”</p><p>He trails off. Harry knows he's probably too young to understand the instinctual desire to hide the things you're good at. You don't want to come off as a braggart or you don't want to be judged on the things that matter to you. There are lots of reasons and at 11, it's probably a confusing multitude combined into one.</p><p>“What are you into, Seamus?” she asks, interjecting in the conversation.</p><p>“Neville's got Herbology, Ron's got Quidditch, Dean's got drawing and football, what about you?”</p><p>“Er, well,” Seamus stutters, “I don't really know. I like watching Quidditch I guess, and I'm great at flying! Kenmare Kestrels is my favorite team!”</p><p>“No way,” Ron yelled, “the Chudley Cannons are the best!”</p><p>“Are you mad?” Seamus asked, “they haven't won a game in years and they just keep getting worse!”</p><p>“They're better than the Kestrels!”</p><p>Harry sighs, and tunes out their yelling. While Dean just laughs good-naturedly, Neville frantically tries to calm the two down. Perhaps that should be her job, but she's not inclined to fixing things that aren't actually problems.</p><p>With the talk of Quidditch, she's reminded of school clubs and spirit week and all of the things that had made her high school life slightly bearable <em>before. </em>Here, with magic and broomsticks, it would be even more exciting, she thinks. Perhaps a little less toxic too, but that might be wishful thinking.</p><p>The main issue is that there are absolutely no clubs or student unions at all besides Quidditch. For more than her sake, she thinks that should change. Where to start is the first question.</p><p>She's never been good at leading, but maybe all of her organizational skills can come into use with this. It'd be a good thing to pass the time until whatever major plot this story runs on shows up.</p><p>She hopes she has a few more years before that happens.</p><p>Until then, she wonders how many people would join a cheer team. On broomsticks, of course (she's not going to overlook the ability to <em>fly, </em>now is she?). She hopes some professor has experience with gymnastics, or maybe another student.</p><p>Quidditch itself is not very appealing, but considering the lack of other sports, she makes trying out for the team her goal if forming any sort of club doesn't work.</p><p>The chance to fly is not something she'll just dismiss. She would enjoy racing around doing tricks on broomsticks rather than chucking balls, but she isn't inclined to argue too much with a clearly backward-thinking society.</p><p>But really, forming a club would probably be the only chance to use broomsticks frequently within the school rules. First years aren't supposed to bring brooms to Hogwarts after all, but for a school-sanctioned organization, she can probably get permission to use the school brooms.</p><p>Then again, does she really want to spend time and energy on something that will likely fail under her undisciplined leadership? Maybe she will just try to join the Quidditch team after all.</p><p> </p><p>Astronomy is an interesting class. She's not looking forward to how cold it will be in the wintertime, but the September air is cool and pleasant on her skin.</p><p>It's hard to pay attention with such a gorgeous view in front of her – both of the brilliant landscape and the stars twinkling above – and Harry's never been very interested in space anyway. 'Magical' space also doesn't pique her interest.</p><p>Telling the future from the stars feels too close to astrology, and although Harry has a distant attraction to the aesthetic of zodiac signs, the 'science' behind it isn't appealing. How can you explain the unexplainable?</p><p>It's baffling, and Hermione beside her seems to think the same. Her nose is scrunched with distaste at the confusing way Professor Sinistra describes the nuance of prophecy and the signs spelled out in the stars.</p><p>Harry thinks Hermione dislikes it for reasons different to her own, though. With the wizarding world's astronomy, the world falls outside of Hermione's perfectly aligned rules. It's probably where her reaction stems from. While Hermione likes the ability to rationalize, Harry, on the other hand, just hates trying to make sense of irrational things.</p><p>Things just are, and sometimes, that's okay. It's okay that one day everyone will die, there's no need to scour the stars for when or how. Sometimes, life should play out without interference from fate or prophecy.</p><p>She hopes that she can just rely on memorization in this class because it seems exhausting to apply meaning to the positions of stars that occur the same way, year after year.</p><p>Eventually, all things burn out, explode into supernovas, and collapse. It doesn't mean that everything else collapses with it.</p><p>Though maybe she's taking the idea of prophecy too far. Professor Sinestra might just use constellations to predict the weather.</p><p>Harry thinks it's unnatural to go any further with it.</p><p>(She has been thrust into this role, yes, but to have free will taken away as well? To have a path set out and known long before her by the stars above?</p><p>It's a terrifying thought.</p><p>It’s this fear of fate that makes her decide that yes, she is going to create something of her own — something unexpected of her and different from the path so clearly cut out for her. She is going to forge the relationships she wants and make a space that she can say is fully <em>hers.</em> Born out of nostalgia and desire and every bit of her past, present, and future, she'll not join something pre-existing, she'll make something new and old and every bit Harry and Kenzie in equal measure.</p><p>She might hate it, but at least she can feel like she's doing something while she waits for the real danger to start.</p><p><strike>Though, there's still a naiive part of her that hopes it never will.</strike>)</p><p> </p><p>Even with Harry's internal clock, it's hard to wake up the next day. They arrived at the common room around 3 am the night before and 3 hours of sleep isn't enough for even the most functioning of insomniacs. Again, she wonders why they schedule Astronomy on Wednesdays.</p><p>History of Magic does turn out to be a disaster, though, with the way wizard's fashion is practically stagnant, she can't tell how old the ghost of a professor is. She just knows he's dreadfully boring and blatantly prejudiced against goblins. Of the teachers she's met, it's clear that three have no business teaching or even being <em>around</em> children.</p><p>She missed out on the chance to talk to the Hufflepuffs in Herbology the day before and with Ravenclaws in their morning class today, so she resolves to just spread the word of her club idea during their lunch period. It's probably best to bring it up in a space where the entire year is gathering, and besides Astronomy, there's really just meal time in which she can be certain to catch everyone. Plus, at this point, she knows most people's faces, if not their names. Besides the Slytherins that is – she was too tired last night to introduce herself to anyone.</p><p>She's looking forward to their class together tomorrow.</p><p>Speaking of Slytherins, she sees a group of girls in green-lined robes enter the hall, heading towards the table at the other end of the room.</p><p>“I'll be right back, just gotta ask around about stuff,” she says to the Gryffindor girls sitting around her, nodding her head to the Slytherins moving to sit down. Weasley looks up too, his eyes following her gaze and he immediately stiffens.</p><p>“Don't talk to them! They're <em>Slytherins,</em>” he hisses, voice low. There's a childishly stubborn air around him, one that reminds her of the seriousness of games in her youth – how she used to so emphatically believe that stepping on a crack would, in fact, <em>actually </em>break her mother's back. She never grew out of her competitiveness, but rationality did insert itself at some point. Hopefully, that will happen to Ron earlier than it happened for her.</p><p>“So?” she asks, humoring him. House divides are already exceedingly clear, but she still doesn't understand why it's so weird to just <em>talk </em>to members of other houses.</p><p>“So? <em>They're evil. </em>Dark wizards, the lot of them.”</p><p>That sounds like some sort of stupidity she doesn't have the energy to dissect. They're 11. Little snot-nosed brats perhaps, but not evil. All she does is noncommittally hum in response to his words. She's never really known how to deal with kids like him, so she just stands up and walks over to the girls without further acknowledgment to Weasley. If she doesn't like them, then she doesn't like them. Simple as can be.</p><p>Besides, it's not like she's looking to become best friends with everyone. She just wants to see if anyone's interested in a cheerleading-like sport. Or maybe trick flying would be the better way to say it, but with how much people care about Quidditch, cheerleaders might actually be wanted for the sport. Specifically cheerleading on broomsticks, because how can Harry <em>not </em>utilize the flying contraptions in any and every sport possible. Flying is just too cool of a thing to not abuse the privilege to its fullest.</p><p>If no one's interested, then she'll move onto her other idea of a racing sport. Flying races, of course.</p><p>She has to show there's some sort of interest in her idea before presenting it to McGonagall. And after that, she can share her idea of a spirit week. She's rather curious about what the Weasley twins would do for crazy hair day.</p><p>She walks swiftly to the Slytherin table, ignoring the stares she gets for doing so.</p><p>Really, is going to another table so strange?</p><p>“Hello,” she says to the girls, suddenly at a loss for what to say. In her desire to get this over with, she forgot to plan how to go about this. She should have at least brought a sheet of paper to write the names of those interested down – if there even would be any.</p><p>She smiles uncomfortably at the piercing stares the table gives her. The Slytherin boys are there too, watching her intensely.</p><p>“Er, are you guys interested in a club? I wanted to make sure people actually like the idea before I try to form it,” she says, doing her best not to fidget. 11-year-olds could be intimidating, alright?</p><p>“What sort of club, Potter?” a girl with a short black bob says, crossing her arms and looking at Harry imperiously.</p><p>“It better not be some sort of fan club,” the silver-haired boy from the train remarks with a sneer.</p><p>“What?” she asks, feeling her face scrunch in confusion before realizing what he means, “oh, no, why would I do that? It's just a muggle sport that I used to do – “ not in this life, but they don't need to know that “ – but I thought it might be fun to try it on broomsticks.”</p><p>“A muggle sport?” Malfoy asks with a grimace, “and why would we want to join something like that?”</p><p>She sighs, shrugging, “it would really just be trick flying, and if it doesn't work we'll probably just race.”</p><p>She doesn't mention that she's never even flown on a broomstick, but hey, that's what this is for, isn't it?</p><p>“Trick flying,” a girl mumbles confusedly. Gosh, is there really such a divide between muggles and wizards that they can't infer what that would mean?</p><p>“I dunno, it could be interesting,” a brunette girl says.</p><p>“Interesting?” the girl with the black hair asks, scoffing – Harry really needs to learn these kid's names –, “what about a muggle sport sounds interesting to you, Davis.”</p><p>“Oh come on, don't be like that Pansy,” a dark-skinned boy says, “it's not like muggles can't have fun either. <em>Clearly</em>, since Harry Potter thinks it's interesting enough to ask us to join.”</p><p>Harry shifts a little awkwardly, “so, does anyone want to join? It'll only happen if enough people want it to.”</p><p>“Sure,” the boy who just spoke says, “I don't see the harm in it.”</p><p>'Davis' nods.</p><p>“Whatever, I'll check it out but if it's lame I'm leaving,” Pansy says with an eye-roll, “Bulstrode, Greengrass, what about you?”</p><p>“You know I don't care about those sorts of things, Parkinson,” a blonde girl says, sipping slightly at her pumpkin juice.</p><p>“Sounds boring,” the other says with a grunt, “and you know my parents wouldn't approve.”</p><p>“True, I suppose,” Pansy says with a sigh, “so I guess it's just Davis and Zabini for company, how charming.”</p><p>Harry smiles a little at her wording. Pansy seems to be dramatically enhancing an act of poshness in that way children do to imitate others. It's rather amusing.</p><p>Malfoy scoffs. “What about us?” he asks, gesturing towards the rest of the boys.</p><p>“Oh hush, Draco. You think your parents would let any of you join a club run by <em>Harry Potter?</em>” she asks, and Harry tilts her head a little in confusion. Isn't she a <em>positive </em>celebrity? A 'savior'? What parents wouldn't want their kids hanging out with her? Unless their parents weren't happy with her supposed defeat of Voldemort, which, well, that sounds like a complicated dynamic. Maybe that's what Ron meant about 'dark wizards', which is stupid considering children aren't their parents, though Ron's probably not old enough to understand that.</p><p>Malfoy blushes fiercely, “I'll have you know, my father's very good at creating diplomatic relationships, <em>actually.”</em></p><p>A boy with hair the color of wheat scoffs, “what? Bribery's turned into diplomacy now?”</p><p>“You shut your mouth, Nott,” Malfoy growls back.</p><p>“Uhh,” Harry interjects, rather surprised at how this conversation's developed. She's clearly unintentionally triggered a barrelful of drama, “I'm sure if anyone wants to join I can figure out some sort of excuse if your parents don't approve.”</p><p>Perhaps it's not the best idea to encourage children to lie to their parents, but she's of the opinion that parents who don't support their children's interests – no matter what they are, as long as they're legal – aren't very good parents. Besides, she lied to her past parent's all the time, and she turned out fine...relatively. As fine as she could be, considering the circumstances!</p><p>Nott's eyes turn to her, almost assessing. “Why are you asking us, anyway? Shouldn't you just stick to your Gryffindor buddies?”</p><p>“I was planning on asking everyone,” she says, lips curving downwards, “It'd be the most fun to get as many people as possible, and I thought getting people from other houses would be the best way to do it. I'm asking the Ravenclaws next and I hope I can get to the Hufflepuffs today, too.”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Good luck getting the Professors to approve that.”</p><p>“Why wouldn't they?”</p><p>“It's not really common to have interhouse clubs – not even uncommon, they <em>don't</em> exist unless it's like an 'extra' class. Most professors are biased to their own houses and don't like mingling. It messes with the point system.”</p><p>“That's stupid,” she says reflexively and he shrugs.</p><p>“That's Hogwarts.”</p><p>She sighs, “I guess. So three people for now, then?”</p><p>Pansy nods, eyes squinted in judgment.</p><p>“Gryffindor Harry Potter playing nice with the snakes... you're really not what I expected.”</p><p>Harry huffs a laugh through her nose, “Yeah, people keep saying that.”</p><p> </p><p>The Ravenclaws are easier to approach with the idea, considering she knows most of their names already. The small population of students is extremely beneficial at the moment, considering how bad she usually is with names.</p><p>She also knows what to say now from how the first conversation went.</p><p>“Would any of you want to join a club if I make one? It'd be a type of flying sport for fun,” she says, not bothering with a greeting as they hush as soon as she arrives. The perks of being famous, she supposes.</p><p>“How many times would it meet?” Terry Boot asks, setting down the textbook perched open on his knee.</p><p>“Er, I don't really know. I guess it depends on how often we're allowed to, but probably once every Saturday and maybe once a weekday before dinner.”</p><p>Parvati's sister – Padma, Harry thinks – tilts her head in thought, “that'd probably interfere with our tutoring group, wouldn't it?”</p><p>Anthony Goldstein shrugs with a smile, “So? It's a club run by Harry Potter, is tutoring that important?”</p><p><em>“Yes,” </em>a girl she thinks is named Mandy Brockle-something insists, “besides, flying around for fun doesn't sound like anything we can't do at home.”</p><p>“Speak for yourself,” Lisa Turpin says, scowling, “muggle-borns can't very well go flying around in our backyards, now can we?”</p><p>Mandy flushes a little, “well, you can always join the Quidditch team next year.”</p><p>“What if I don't want to play Quidditch, though?” Lisa asks harshly before turning to Harry, “what exactly would the club be anyway, Potter?”</p><p>“Uhh, I want to do a sort of cheerleading club if possible,” she says and winces when Lisa frowns.</p><p>“Really? That's strange, but I suppose it could work.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Boot asks, “what's cheerleading?”</p><p>“It's a girl's sport where you, well, you explain it, Potter,” Lisa says, gesturing to her.</p><p>Harry can already see some of the boys furrowing their brows at the mention of it being a 'girls' sport.</p><p>“With brooms, it'd just be a bunch of tricks and formations that could maybe support the quidditch matches,” Harry says, trying to explain it without gendering it unnecessarily.</p><p>“Across houses? Who would they 'cheer' for?” Padma asks.</p><p>“Just the players in general, I'd think. It's not like it'll be super serious, it's just for fun. We don't even have to do it like traditional cheer teams. We could just apply gymnastics to flying for the sake of it and not involve ourselves with the Quidditch teams at all.”</p><p>She's met with blank stares and she sighs.</p><p>“Would anyone at least want to try it out? It's not super serious.”</p><p>Mandy purses her lips. “I'd rather join something with an actual structure and goal to it, honestly.”</p><p>“Mandy,” Anthony hisses, elbowing her in the side.</p><p>“What? It's true!”</p><p>Padma laughs, “well, you don't have to say it like that.”</p><p>She resists the urge to check the time or pinch her nose in exasperation. It's a yes or no question, it shouldn't take so long.</p><p>“If it doesn't work out for trick flying, I'm planning to just do racing, if having that backup gives you comfort.”</p><p>“Ooh,” Anthony says, grinning at Mandy and wiggling his eyebrows, “racing.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. “Really, don't blame me if you fail your courses just so you can fly around on a broomstick all day.”</p><p>“Oh, come off it, Mandy, it wouldn't be all day. There'd still be time to study,” Lisa says.</p><p>“I'm not interested, sorry,” a girl she can't remember the name of – something with an 'S' – says with a polite smile, though Harry's just glad the other girl kickstarted the actual conversation she came for: does anyone want to join or not?</p><p>“I am!” Anthony says, “count me in!”</p><p>“I want to fly more than just the class next week for it,” Lisa says with a nod.</p><p>“Er, sure I guess,” Michael says, though Padma hits him on the head with a book beside him.</p><p>“What was that for?” he asks, pouting.</p><p>“You promised you'd show up for tutoring, you've already said you'll need help keeping your grades up!” she scolds.</p><p>“Fine, fine!” he says, grumbling, “no, I guess.”</p><p>Mandy she doesn't even look to, as it's clear she won't join and Padma doesn't seem very interested either.</p><p>Boot just shakes his head no, “if I want to fly I'll just play Quidditch.”</p><p>She nods and leaves. Three for Slytherin and two for Ravenclaw so far – five altogether doesn't seem too bad with a school this size.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, the Hufflepuffs are at first the hardest to recruit by virtue of the outspokenness of Justin Finch-Fletchley – a muggle-born boy with a rather unhealthy amount of distaste for all things 'girly'.</p><p>Susan Bones, a serious girl, seems nonplussed by his attitude, but it certainly affects the boys and girls alike.</p><p>“We'll really just be playing around on brooms,” she says with an eye roll at his dramatics, “and it won't be <em>that</em> much like muggle cheerleading, considering we'll be flying.</p><p>“Besides, if it doesn't work out we'll probably just move to racing.”</p><p>Justin frowns thoughtfully, “I guess flying would be fun.”</p><p>“Yeah!” Ernie MacMillan says, grinning, “If it's not too girly, that is.”</p><p>She does not groan, but it's a near thing.</p><p>“Do you even think it'll work,” a blonde she forgets the name of says with a sneer, “you said yourself you don't even know how to fly.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up, Smith,” MacMillan says, “it's just for fun.”</p><p>Smith glares at him, “A stupid idea for fun if you ask me.”</p><p>“Well, we didn't,” Wayne (she can't remember his last name) says smoothly, almost popping the words off his tongue.</p><p>“Oh bugger off then, see if I care,” Smith says, storming off.</p><p>Harry's getting really tired of children starting random, nonsensical arguments, but at least the antagonist left on his own this time.</p><p>“I'm not interested,” Susan Bones says apologetically in the awkward silence left by Smith's departure.</p><p>“I am!” Hannah Abbott exclaims, grinning, “my mom never lets me do tricks on the broom!”</p><p>Harry suddenly wonders if gathering a bunch of children to do maneuvers 30 plus feet in the air is a dangerous idea. Well, she can always get someone to conjure a soft pad for the ground just in case. Or maybe a net.</p><p>It can't be more dangerous than Quidditch with the existence of beaters.</p><p>“Er, I probably won't join. I don't know,” Megan Jones says, twisting her hands together shyly, “I'm not really a fan of heights.”</p><p>“That's okay,” Harry says, “and you, Wayne?”</p><p>“Why not,” he says with a smirk, “could be fun.”</p><p>She nods, “Alright, that's four of you for sure, then?”</p><p>The group looks at each other for confirmation, nodding as they count quietly.</p><p>“Awesome,” she says, feeling relief flow through her at finally being done recruiting the other houses. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to form a club full of children. It's already exhausting dealing with one at a time. More than 10 in one room? It's a daunting prospect, but she created it herself.</p><p>She almost hopes that McGonagall will turn the idea down. It's a pessimistic thought, but it's honest.</p><p>How will she handle so many conflicting personalities all combined into one room – all with the maturity to match the children that they are?</p><p>She flops down in her seat at the Gryffindor table and lays her face in the wood, feeling everyone's eyes on her as she sighs, long and dramatic.</p><p>“You were wrong, Weasley. <em>All</em> children are evil,” she says, words muffled.</p><p>“Uh... Harry?”</p><p>“Yes, Neville?”</p><p>“You're uh, you're a kid too, y'know.”</p><p>“Don't remind me.”</p><p> </p><p>Not a single Gryffindor is against the idea of the club. Even Hermione seems eager to join if only to learn how to fly. Though the other girl does seem particularly insistent on the learning part, and Harry has to remind her that it's only just for fun and they may not learn anything at all.</p><p>Harry's never ridden a broom before, after all.</p><p>That only seems to make Hermione's anxiety about the matter worse. Harry is too emotionally drained to really try to figure out the root of the issue, but she sits beside Hermione during Transfiguration after lunch to at least try to offer some semblance of support, even if it's not verbal.</p><p>McGonagall seems like another good teacher, though she does make a comment about Harry's resemblance to her parents. It makes her skin prickle with discomfort. What is it with the magical world constantly bringing up her dead parents? It seems a little tactless.</p><p>With the entirety of the Gryffindor house on her side and nine students from other houses, Harry does bring up the idea of a general flying club. She keeps it broad at first, realizing that it should probably not be specialized into any certain category yet.</p><p>The older woman seems confused by the request, but she agrees on the condition that Harry finds an 'older student to monitor it'.</p><p>With the lack of specifications of age – just 'older' – it's rather clear who'll be the best choice. Though she does have to make sure meetings won't occur during Quidditch practice. Perhaps it'd be best to just keep the meetings to the weekend. It's clear at this point that she doesn't have the energy to meet every day, and it will make it more enjoyable if she's not getting overwhelmed by constant, daily meetings.</p><p>She hopes the Weasley twins will be on board with the idea because she doesn't know any other older students besides Percy. Percy... doesn't seem like the best candidate for something like this.</p><p>Either way, she has her club. It makes things feel almost normal. It makes her feel real. Like her choices matter – like she's more than a fictional character, but a living, breathing human with independent thoughts and ideas.</p><p>And if it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. At least she can say that she tried.</p><p> </p><p>Breakfast the next day is tense, though she doesn't really know why.</p><p>She eats her porridge in silence, trying to ignore the strange looks the boys are exchanging.</p><p>Eventually, she sighs and sets down her spoon, giving in to her curiosity.</p><p>“What's the weird mood for?” she finally asks.</p><p>“Er, you know what today is, right?” Seamus asks.</p><p>“Friday.”</p><p>“Well, yes, but I meant what's <em>happening </em>today.”</p><p>“Oh, just Potions, why? Is something else happening?”</p><p>Hermione, engrossed in her textbook beside her, perks up.</p><p>“Oh, hopefully, there's another class. The whole afternoon's off and I'm already finished with this week's homework,” she says dejectedly.</p><p>Ron snorts, “no, who would want that?”</p><p>“Some people are here to <em>learn, </em>Ron,” Hermione retorts fiercely, “it might suit you well to try too.”</p><p>Harry breathes in deeply. “What's going on?” she asks dully, trying to get the kids back on track instead of addressing the clear animosity between Ron and Hermione.</p><p>“Well, Professor Snape teaches Potions is all, and they say he favors the Slytherins – his house,” Ron says, smacking noisily on a sausage as he speaks.</p><p>“And...,” she trails off. Favoring isn't the worst thing in the world. At least, she wouldn't think it would be enough for the table's somber attitude.</p><p>“Well, he's an arse to everyone else, I've heard,” he continues, “that's what my brothers say, at least. A real slimy git who takes away points as much as he can.”</p><p>A bad feeling grows in her stomach. She looks at Dean who seems to have the same thought she does.</p><p>“I hope they're just exaggerating,” she says after a pause, turning back to her food. She's been looking forward to Potions, after all. If the teacher is who she thinks it might be...well, sometimes a bad teacher could ruin a good subject entirely.</p><p>And isn't Snape the one who Neville called a Death Eater?</p><p>The bad feeling grows.</p><p> </p><p>Beatrix, who's been flying in every morning for treats and pets, drops her first letter of the year off to Harry that morning. It lands in the porridge bowl, Beatrix letting out a cheerful caw that lets Harry know it's intentional. The bird probably senses her mood and is trying to break her out of it. Harry wants to smile at the action, but she's really just annoyed at the sogginess of the letter now.</p><p>Beatrix sits on her shoulder as she reads it, carefully opened to avoid the ink splotching from the moisture on the page.</p><p>'<em>Dear Harry,</em></p><p>
  <em> I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Beatrix.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hagrid'</em>
</p><p>She smiles at the letter, absentmindedly petting at Beatrix's chin as she reads it over again. Hagrid seems to have the best timing. Whether Potions is bad or good, at least she has something to look forward to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahaha, I lied in the last end notes, I rewrote this like 5 times in the last few days cuz I was rereading this and it just <em>did not work</em> with what I’ve written in the future. SO, have subplot progression and a <em>lot</em> of interaction rather than plot progression. Gosh, again, if this pace is horribly slow now… I’m so sorry. I thought it would be much faster, but then I realized I wanted to make the relationships more genuine so we’re getting lots of friendship building and interhouse stuff rn. This club is going to be more like a side bit like Quidditch is in the canon series, so every meeting won't be detailed. That would get tedious fast. Already it’s being pulled back into a more minor role with the once-a-week thing, but she just really needed to do something of her own, lol, and that included the talking to all of the houses bit. She is a very go with the flow person, but she is getting <em>freaked out</em> right now cuz she knows stuff’s gonna happen soon but she doesn’t know what. So, she’s making her own path in a very futile attempt to feel as though she’s progressing as a person separate from the story she’s found herself in. I hope that translated, lol.</p><p>Altogether, once I rewrote this, the chapter was 10 k so I split it in two! I'll probs update either this Saturday or Monday next time as I'll be gone all Sunday this week and won't have access to a computer, sorry about the weird updates recently, I keep having so much stuff happening on Sunday, but good news is I've been getting more functional!! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Under the Skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Children are cruel, but adults are so much worse. They are never what they make themselves to be. She wonders when she'll stop being disappointed.</p><p>She wonders if she'll hate herself too for it, soon.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning that extremely violent homophobia is briefly referred to, but I would say it is pretty shocking so be cautious.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Potions <em>is</em> horrible.</p><p>Snape is a bully. She does not flinch when he berates her or when he spits her name like a curse. It's almost expected at this point. People like to hurt the frail and tiny things because it’s easy. She fits those traits alarmingly well.</p><p>Children are cruel, but adults are so much worse. They are never what they make themselves to be. She wonders when she'll stop being disappointed.</p><p>She wonders if she'll hate herself too for it, soon.</p><p>(Growing up is an inexplicably hard thing to do when you've done no growing at all.)</p><p> </p><p>It starts, as most classes have so far, with a dramatic introduction. The room itself already sets the mood; a pleasantly cool place, but seemingly something out of a fairytale.</p><p>Well, more like the lair of a villain in a fairytale, but still.</p><p>She's sitting beside Neville, who seemed the most scared going into the class. Seamus and Ron are behind her, snickering about something inane, whilst Dean desperately listens to Hermione's rant about the first chapter of the textbook at the table in front of her – Hermione doesn't even seem to realize that Dean is just using her as a last-minute attempt at studying. He must have taken the rumors of Snape's horridness to heart. Lavender and Parvati – who she's sure must have known each other before school with how close they are – are at the furthest table in the back.</p><p>The Slytherins are on the other side of the room, the seating divided as though there's an imaginary line running through the classroom. For once, she wishes there are seating charts if only to encourage people from other houses to at least <em>talk </em>to each other. Maybe they just haven't gotten them yet, though.</p><p>The first point of contention in the class is when Professor Snape – who, as she feared, is the man from the first day – slams the door to the classroom open, the heavy dungeon door hitting the wall as if propelled but stopping as soon as it hits the wall.</p><p>Magic just for the sake of abusing the poor door. Already a tick in the arse category. Or, more like the 'will produce unnecessary stimuli, possible sensory overloads to occur' category, so perhaps that's just her personal bias, really.</p><p>Then, of course, there's the roll call. It's fine – perfectly normal, at first – until...</p><p>“Ah, yes. Harry Potter,” the man drawls, her name rolling off his tongue in a chilling drawl, “Our new – <em>celebrity.</em>”</p><p>And really, this isn't so bad. People have been treating her with various amounts of nonsensical disdain and hero-worship all week. It's just, the man's tone makes her feel <em>small </em>in a way the others haven't. Maybe it's just because of how excited she was for this class, and having the man berate her before even letting Harry show her worth makes her feel helpless.</p><p>She tries not to let it bother her, not one to like ruminating on other's opinions of her so much. It works, at first, as compartmentalizing and ignoring the issue always tends to for her.</p><p>Malfoy and a few other Slytherins laugh a little, not meanly, but the way Snape's eyes turn towards them – approving rather than with stern dissatisfaction – makes her wary. Most teachers aren't so openly sadistic. Not to say that she hasn't met a fair few downright evil ones – her old science teacher discussing how best to kill 'gays' comes to mind – but usually... usually they at least put up a genial front.</p><p>This man has the freedom to behave the way he is. It's a pattern she's beginning to notice in the wizarding world. She wonders, though, if it's better to have the evilness shown upfront rather than behind pretty facades as they are in the muggle world. Or, maybe cruelty is hidden <em>and </em>flaunted just as equally in both worlds and she's just getting used to the culture shock of it presenting differently.</p><p>After calling everyone's names, the man begins a dull, dramatic speech about the 'subtle and exact art of potions'. It's almost enrapturing, and she draws herself forward in her seat a little. Maybe the class can be salvaged with this: a teacher who clearly cares deeply about his subject. Maybe she's misjudging him as much as he is her.</p><p>“As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach,” Snape says, prowling the front of the classroom at dramatically uneven paces.</p><p><em>Ah, nevermind,</em> she thinks huffing out a breath in dark amusement as she sketches a potions bottle in the corner of her parchment.</p><p>“Potter!” Snape shouts, making Harry jump and scratch a line through the sparkle she was adding within the liquid of the concoction She frowns, pouting at the loss of the cute doodle as Snape continues, “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? And pay attention, boy! I will not tolerate pointless scribbling in my class!”</p><p>Yeah, she was right on the arse bit.</p><p>She tries to think of the answer, absentmindedly wondering how Hermione in front of her knows when Harry's sure she read the textbook through enough to remember something like that. Just how much supplemental reading did the other girl <em>do?</em></p><p>She shrugs eventually, saying, “I dunno.”</p><p>She barely resists the urge to continue doodling. Quills make the activity so much more fun too. But alas, house points with this man are probably going to be a losing battle. No need to add fuel to the flames.</p><p>Snape raises an eyebrow, face the perfect picture of disdain.</p><p>“Try that again, Potter. Fame clearly isn't everything, but I thought you'd at least pretend to have manners,” he says, voice menacing.</p><p>Pretend to have manners? Hm, sure, she can – she <em>is</em>, honestly (not having something to do with her hands is very hard, alright) – so what on earth is he referring to?</p><p>She raises her eyebrows in a clear sign of confusion.</p><p>“A point from Gryffindor for your rudeness,” Snape says, voice barely hiding how gleeful he is at taking away the point. Her chest goes cold and she barely resists the urge to protest.</p><p>Right. Verbally communicate or adults will think you're being snarky. Logic. She can do this. It's just a point, she reminds herself. One single point and some other Gryffindor's have already earned back her lost one from the first day and more.</p><p>It's just a point.</p><p>“Sorry, sir,” she mumbles, not meaning it, but keeping up the pretense.</p><p>He lets it hang in the air for a moment before scoffing.</p><p>“Let’s try something easier, then, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”</p><p>She perks up, knowing this not from the potions textbook, but from a book she read just a few years ago. It was about a serving girl running away from her position in a noble court during wartime, only to find her country's enemy, a handsome dark elf prince, roaming the land for a magical object to defeat her King. Romance ensued, of course, but along the way, a squire was poisoned and the main character had saved his life by finding a bezoar, saying it was from –</p><p>“A goat's stomach,” she says, smiling with her small victory.</p><p>The Professor frowns, “And? Don't look so proud of yourself, boy, what does it do?”</p><p>“It cures poisons,” she answers swiftly. After all, that had been the entire reason it had been brought into the story in the first place.</p><p>“It's an antidote for poisons, you mean,” Snape says, a curl to his lips, which yes, she did mean that because that's what she said.</p><p>“This is all basic knowledge, hardly impressive,” he says dismissively, “so tell me, Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”</p><p>“Err,” she says, her lips twisting, “I'm not sure.”</p><p>“I see. Not worth much in a measure of intelligence, are you?” he asks with a smirk, and she scowls into the desk, not rising to the bait, “And what is the alihotsy plant most known for?”</p><p>“I don't know,” she answers, dully annoyed and ignoring the varying reactions of laughter and indignation around the room from this debacle as best she can. It doesn't work as her skin prickles with the weight of the eyes on her, and she picks harshly at her cuticles.</p><p>“Didn't think to open a book before class, did you, Potter?</p><p>Her brain stalls, the combination of everyone's attention on her, the verbal onslaught of stimuli, and the potent tangy smell in the room making her brain's ability to process information at the end of her body's priority list. It's frustratingly bad timing. All the brainpower she can manage to draw up rushes out of her in a softly expelled, “what?”</p><p>Because she did. She read the book – twice! – she did everything she should have. She's tired and annoyed and she is veering dangerously into the 'if you touch me I will rip your hands off indiscriminately' state.</p><p>Snape only sneers harder.</p><p>“Do you have something to say, Potter? Spit it out, as you so <em>clearly </em>don't care to respect authority, I'm not sure why you haven't already.”</p><p>Well, he's right about one thing. Screw it. She's tired and angry.</p><p>“Kindly," – not at all – “your opinions on your student's lives don't belong in a classroom, you git,” she says, finally matching his sneer with her own.</p><p>His eyes narrow, and he swipes his cape behind him as he swivels to face her.</p><p>“Detention, Potter,” he drawls. She scoffs, going back to doodling as a metaphorical middle finger to the man.</p><p>“Sounds like a punishment for you more than me, <em>sir</em>,” she says with an eye roll. She knows her famous, patented eye rolls of her last life were much more effective with blonde hair and wonders if she should dye it just for that sake.</p><p>The gifts of being able to piss people off just by existing.</p><p>“And 50 points from Gryffindor,” he adds. She tenses, continuing to draw as if unaffected, but <em>god, </em>she's not a person quick to anger, but <em>this man, “</em>for an unsurprising lack of common sense and respect.”</p><p>She grits her teeth and continues doodling. At least having something else to focus on lessens the itch of her skin. She's not angry then, really. Just overwhelmed.</p><p>She digs the tip of her quill into her paper as hard as she can and watches the ink pool onto the ruined potion bottle.</p><p>It feels amusingly symbolic.</p><p>“For your information, Potter, asphodel, and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Alihotsy is best known for its laughter-inducing effects. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”</p><p>It probably doesn't even apply to the first-year curriculum, but she does so anyway, sighing long-sufferingly and almost spitefully hoping the Professor will take notice.</p><p>He does, but he seems done with her enough to finally not comment. At least the man has some restraint.</p><p>The making of the boil-cure potion goes well enough. Focusing on measuring and mixing ingredients as well as managing Neville beside her (who she thought would be a little better at this with his skills in plants) allows her to ignore Snape's scathing comments much easier.</p><p>With something else to put her mind to, she just keeps her head down. She wishes she had in the first place, feeling that familiar burn of humiliation at losing herself to her emotions. Arguably it's good that she stood up for herself, but it's embarrassing – childlike, almost. Or, it makes her feel that way.</p><p>The potion turns out well. They follow all the instructions, but they aren't executed exceptionally. There are a few close calls in which Neville almost adds the wrong ingredients or the time she absent-mindedly almost tastes the thing out of habit – swiping a pinky through the liquid clinging to the stirring rod and bringing it to her lips before Snape vigorously slaps her hand away from her mouth. It's mortifying, but nothing worse than before considering she doesn't blow up back at him this time.</p><p>She does ask what time the detention will be in the midst of his screaming about her stupidity though, so maybe she's antagonizing him a little bit. But she feels she's justified!</p><p>(In this case, he's also justified about her stupidity, but that's terrifying in and of itself. She's so focused on the broader concept of what she is doing – stirring basically a soup – that she forgot the details. Mainly, that this is an unknown, magical concoction. She probably needs some Vyvanse.)</p><p>She loses another point and wonders how the real Harry Potter would have handled this. Sadly, probably better than her.</p><p> </p><p>“What a dreadful man,” Hermione says, face flushed from the heat of the potions and probably the way Snape unremorsefully called her potion 'hogwash, but... decent, I <em>suppose</em>' (quite the drama queen, if Harry says so herself).</p><p>“He didn't even use the book!” she continues as if it's a great travesty that Snape had written the instructions on the blackboard at the front of the room.</p><p>“Mmhm,” Harry hums in response, glad to get out of the stifling room. It makes sense that it was so cold at the beginning since it seems to absorb the heat of the cauldron fires remarkably fast.</p><p>“Oh, but really Harry, why did you antagonize him? You've already gotten detention and it's only the first week! Not to mention the points!”</p><p>Harry childishly wants to retaliate 'he antagonized me first' but she has standards. Flexible standards, but still.</p><p>So she shrugs, watching idly as Weasley bristles to her defense. He's almost like a dog, honestly.</p><p>“The git deserved it!” he shouts, to the nods of the other Gryffindor boys. Lavender and Parvati are already gone, bustling swiftly to lunch. She can still see their backs at the end of the hall and almost mourns not rushing out with them if this is going to turn into another fight between Ron and Hermione.</p><p>“Oh, honestly Ronald, we're down 52 points now, clearly Harry should have done <em>something </em>differently,” Hermione continues, nose in the air as she stares at Ron. Harry's chest hurts from the words, even if she knows what Hermione's saying isn't intended to be malicious. Still...</p><p>Her mouth feels sour, as though her spit is lemon juice.</p><p>“It's alright, we'll earn them back, just,” Harry turns away, a strange twist in her gut, “I'm going to Hagrid's.”</p><p>She doesn't say that she's 3 hours early and will be missing lunch by doing so, but - semantics. They don’t need to know.</p><p>“Okay,” Hermione says, words slow and cautious as her brows furrow from trying to decipher the almost-non-sequitur.</p><p>“Can I come with?” Ron asks, excitedly. Dean elbows him in the side, and Ron whines, “What was that for?”</p><p>“Leave him alone, mate,” Dean says, dragging a befuddled Ron away, “I think he just wants some time to himself.”</p><p>She smiles, wobbly, at Dean. What is with this child's emotional intelligence, though, because she feels like he has to be a prodigy in empathy. Maybe she’s just too used to Dudley and Piers being her main source of interaction with children in this life.</p><p>“Alright,” Ron says, face red as he frowns.</p><p>She waves with an awkward grin as she smiles at the Gryffindors, before turning swiftly to find her way to Gryffindor tower. She wants to change into her robes – the green and silver ones, she thinks – or maybe into a t-shirt and athletic shorts. It's a sunny day out, so perhaps she could sit by the lake or even wade in the water. T-shirt and shorts it is, then. After all, there's not too much warm weather left. It'd be a shame to waste it.</p><p>She's glad for the escape from the kids behind her, and if she gets lost? Well, there's still 3 hours to find her way.</p><p> </p><p>After spending a good portion of the day sunning on the rocks at the shore of the Black Lake, she makes her way to the wooden hut at the edge of the grounds. It's a conglomeration of stone and wood and moss that looks both dangerously unstable, and somehow sturdy at the same time. She's coming to learn that magic shouldn't be questioned.</p><p>Knocking on the door, a dog begins barking. Clattering noises that can only mean a chaotic commotion is happening behind the door begin to ring out. She winces at a large crash.</p><p>“<em>Back</em>, Fang – <em>back,</em>” Hagrid's voice says, before he pulls the door open a crack, large face grinning at her.</p><p>“Hang on,” he says. letting her in as he drags a dog larger than her behind him by the collar. “<em>Back</em>, Fang.”</p><p>The hut is rustic, but homey inside. Game birds hang from the ceiling and the one-room home is warm from the stove, flames alight and merrily licking at the sides of a kettle.</p><p>“Make yerself at home,” Hagrid says, letting go of Fang, who bounds toward her immediately.</p><p>“Oomph,” she exclaims, falling to the ground as Fang jumps on her, licking at her face. She laughs, mumbling “blegh,” as he joyously searches for pets. She tries to provide them, but he's too enthusiastic to do so easily.</p><p>Hagrid pours the tea as she remains seated on the ground, Fang calming down enough to accept her cuddles docilely. He flips onto his back and lets her rub his stomach, his tail hitting the ground with echoing thumps.</p><p>“He likes yeh,” Hagrid comments, setting down a plate of rock cakes, “likes everyone, really, the big softie.”</p><p>“He's sweet,” she agrees, scratching behind Fang's ears and taking a seat at the table, “how have you been, Hagrid?”</p><p>“Aren't I supposed to ask yeh that?” he asks with a smile, “yeh're a good kid, Harry.”</p><p>She blushes, “thanks.”</p><p>“How's yer firs' week been?” he asks as she takes a bite of the rock cake. She barely manages to hide her flinch. The things are aptly named she supposes, and don't taste <em>bad </em>necessarily. They're just... like a block of sweet concrete.</p><p>She resolves to nibble slowly on it. Perhaps by the end of their meeting she'll actually have finished one that way.</p><p>“It's been okay,” she says, “magic's cool, and there's lots to see.”</p><p>“What's yer favorite class?” he asks, pushing Fang's head off of Harry's knee. Seconds later, the dog's drooling maw is back on her leg – at her thigh this time – and Hagrid gives up the endeavor.</p><p>“I'm not sure. I was excited for Potions, but... Snape seems to really hate me. I lost 52 points. I guess I <em>did </em>yell at him, so maybe... I don't know, it was just disappointing, I guess.”</p><p>“Blimey Harry, 52 points?!” Hagrid asks. She twitches, fiddling with her rock cake and avoiding Hagrid's eyes.</p><p>“Yeah,” she whispers softly.</p><p>Seemingly sensing her distress, Hagrid says, “That'd make anyone disappointed.”</p><p>“I got detention, too, which with <em>him – </em>I can already tell it'll be miserable.”</p><p>“It won't be so bad,” Hagrid says, “probably just cleanin' cauldrons.”</p><p>“Heh, yeah, hopefully.”</p><p>She doesn't think even that could be halfway decent with the way Snape seems to behave, but she doesn't tell Hagrid that. The man seems content enough to talk about the Centaur herds behaving restlessly in the Forest.</p><p> </p><p>It's dinner time when she leaves Hagrid's. She finished the rock cake out of hunger from her skipped lunch, but that sits heavy in her guts, so dinner almost sounds nauseating. It's unhealthy, but she skips it as well – used to a lack of consistent meals from the Dursleys.</p><p>Instead, she crawls into her bed, takes out a muggle notebook, and begins a bullet point list of all of the things Snape and others (mainly Filch) have said or done that would be concerning in any muggle school. If she has enough evidence, perhaps someone will get fired (hopefully Snape).</p><p>There's also the exorcisms to consider. Peeves should certainly classify as a health risk.</p><p>“I feel like this might mess something up, but I'd rather not fall asleep in History class all the time,” she whispers to herself, “anyway...”</p><p><em>It's always good to have blackmail</em>, she finishes in her mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, Snape is slightly worse in this chapter than in the intro in philosopher’s stone. But look at her responses and tell me he wouldn't be. Look at herrrr. She looks like a mini James Potter and is also clearly judging him, he's having ~trauma responses~ (which, omg, is he always having a trauma response in the books??? Like, I get why the dude's an ass then – absolutely not okay to bully/abuse children, but still. Must suck big time). Also, alihotsy, the additional potions ingredient question mentioned in this, well, it uh, it actually does appear in the first year textbook but I didn't realize that, so she technically should know it, or at least should have remembered it broadly, but like, let's ignore that and pretend it's not cuz nothing else Snape says is first-year stuff and yeah, I don't think my inclusion of it as something not first year is going to mess with the plot, lol.</p><p>A fun thing I did with this chapter was looking up the rate of house point removal from each Professor. Interestingly, Snape doesn't take a ridiculous amount of points unless he thinks someone's actually done something wrong (usually, it's still a biased interpretation, but yeah). On the other hand, he takes a lot of single points away for ridiculous reasons. That's where his pointless point-taking (haha) comes in. </p><p>Also, Ron's presence was the main reason Harry in the books grabbed the newspaper. Harry here does not grab the newspaper because it's lying under a tea cozy and she and Hagrid are talking the whole time so there's no need for her to pick it up. Like, it'd be really weird to pick up a newspaper and start reading it in the middle of someone talking to you.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Work playlist: <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Noaj87KNRTfmlOF50glaN?si=961uftzKREOSXPrgp0Ikxw">Long Live the Reckless Playlist</a> </p>
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<p>Tumblr: <a href="https://cleothedreamer.tumblr.com/">CleotheDreamer Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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